


Hard Brexit

by Lunarrua



Series: Getting Bolder [2]
Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, One Direction (Band), niall horan - Fandom
Genre: A fic which is rapidly being overtaken by current events, Anal Sex, Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Hugging, M/M, Misunderstandings, Politics, Stupid Boys being Stupid, Worst case scenario for Brexit, a lot of hugging, secret pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:36:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19091695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarrua/pseuds/Lunarrua
Summary: There are ways of getting an EU passport, if you really need one. And what's a fake marriage between old friends anyway? It's not like a little past history and some lingering, unspoken emotions could make matters complicated, now could it?A Brexit-inspired fake marriage AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (This isn't a sequel to Landslide (the other fic in this series) but if you'd like it to be, then squint and tilt your head to the side, ignore the inconsistencies, and it might just about work)

In future, his right hand really needs to join in with the rest of the class when Niall delivers one of his stern _talking-tos_ in front of the mirror. Because, despite his earlier words of admonishment, it's actually trembling now when he raises it to press the doorbell. 

Fucksake. This was covered! This is not a big deal. 

He shakes it out, fingerbones snapping against each other, huffs out a quick breath, and tries this again.

He presses the bell to Harry’s Hampstead house, moves a pace back on the doorstep and lifts his face up to the security camera while the _ding dong_ reverberates dully through the other side of the door. 

There, now. That’s that done then. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

After a few seconds, the door swings open and Niall’s heart does an utterly ridiculous and pointless pirouette. Because - it’s just Jeff there, talking on his phone and looking decidedly stressed out.

It is a small consolation to Niall that no one can see what’s going on inside his chest - his heart deflating like some kind of sad, leftover party balloon. 

Harry's text had just made it sound like they'd be alone, that's all. To have a chat about this _proposal_ he said he had for Niall. 

But this is fine. No big deal.

It's not like Niall was expecting Harry to suggest calling off the hiatus, or anything, hahaha! Or that Harry might be about to politely enquire if Niall would care to be introduced to his very good friend, Stevie Nicks. It wasn't like he'd started fantasising about them thrashing out the formation of a new supergroup involving Stevie, Don Henley and, possibly, just because he seems like a chill dude, Dave Grohl on drums. Nothing like that. No way.

 

“Heya Jeff! Good to see ya!” Niall manages what he’s pretty sure is a convincingly hearty tone.

Jeff’s all frowny and distracted but he nods and says “Hold on a sec,” to his phone, and then reaches to give Niall a light one-arm hug, patting quickly on his back. “Hi! Niall! Great! This is great! Thanks so much for this, honestly.”

He tugs Niall inside, shooting a furtive look up and down the street first.

As greetings go, it's a little anxiously over-effusive maybe? But then again, maybe people _should_ start thanking Niall for his mere presence. He's a delight, really. It's about time that's recognised by his peers.

“Yeah, it’s a runner...,” Jeff’s turned back to his phone immediately. “No, if we file the documentation by 5 pm we should be good, so keep the lines open and I’ll get it all scanned through asap.” He’s paced down the hallway a little by now but looks confusedly over his shoulder as though realising he’s forgotten something. 

“Niall,” he jerks his chin towards an open door further along the corridor, the phone still at his ear, “Harry’s in there, go on through …”

 

Harry must have knocked through a wall or something since the last time Niall was here. Because his living room is huge now. Which is just as well because there are many people here. Very, very many people, all strewn over the dark leather furniture, on laptops and tapping at phones. There are also rails of clothes, pushed against the walls. Also clothes streaming out of open suitcases, shoes stacked on chairs, lots of empty glasses and plates cluttering every surface, papers scattered everywhere. Mitch from his band is in the corner, facing a laptop screen and seems to be jamming with a drummer over Skype. A small child is crawling over the lacquered floorboards, pushing a toy train around everyone’s legs.

It takes Niall a minute to spot Harry. He’s squatting on the floor against the opposite wall, nodding seriously up at a woman who is talking at him a mile a minute. He’s all bundled up in soft, grey workout clothes, a woolly hat on his head, and he looks tired and pale and has that blank “I’m being extremely polite and attentive” expression on his face which, Niall knows, means he’s getting close to the end of his rope.

Niall steps further inside, where he's immediately forced to dodge the child’s attempt to guillotine his toes. He ends up announcing his presence with near-tumble and a loud “whoooah!”

Harry looks up. And his face brightens like someone’s set off a firework. 

He meets Niall’s eyes, a slow grin spreading across his face, frickin’ dimples popping in. Apparently Niall’s heart has been putting an effort into reinflating because it now quietly explodes into a gooey mess. 

Well. It gave it’s all in the last 10 minutes, it really did.

Niall can't help standing there awkwardly, grinning back. There's his friend. His Harry. Same as ever.

Next thing, Harry’s up on his feet, dashing over and enveloping Niall into a hug before Niall manages to even take a breath to say hello. And it feels … just like it always used to. Warm and soft and inevitable. Niall helplessly drops his face into Harry’s neck and squeezes him back. Harry's body is firm and strong, vibrating with chuckling laughter. Damn it. It hasn’t changed at all.

 

Pretty soon after, Niall’s leaning against the refreshment-laden sideboard at the back of the room and Harry is handing him a cup of coffee. They haven’t really said anything so far, since the hug. Harry keeps looking around the room instead, like there’s an assassin lurking that he needs to keep an eye out for.

“Your place is crazy today,” Niall offers as a conversation opener.

“Yeah, wow,” Harry raises his eyebrows and gazes around in wonder. He puffs out a breath. 

And that seems to be the full extent of the explanation Niall is going to get.

“How’s your mum?” Harry asks then, finally turning to look properly at Niall. 

“Ah good, she’s grand, thanks.” 

Niall sort of forgot how intensely Harry focuses in on you in casual conversation, his eyes fixed and unblinking. Luckily Niall's come to learn that he is an interesting and valuable person in his own right. Because when that attention eventually turns elsewhere? Well... Lesser humans have found it difficult to deal with, that’s all.

“And Bobby? He’s well?” Harry pours out a mug of coffee for himself now.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s doing good,” Niall watches Harry dunk a teaspoon of coconut oil into his coffee and tries not to shudder, “Got elected Golf Club Secretary. There's no talking to him.”

“Yeah?” Harry beams at Niall, “An honour!”

“Also a curse, apparently. Game of Thrones has nothing on Mullingar Golf Club politics, by the sounds of it. But he’s got this kid’s club up and running. Trying to teach Theo.”

Harry laughs but seems to be distracted suddenly by Niall’s hair - his eyes keep darting up and scanning over it.

Niall reaches up to brush at it - “Have I got a leaf or something stuck there or …”

Harry grins and shakes his head. Then he reaches over and ruffles Niall’s curls with his long fingers, peering intently. 

“Floofy” he says. Then, after another darting scan over Niall's body, “I like the look.”

Niall doesn’t know how to respond to the soft smile that appears on Harry’s face. 

And then it gets worse - Harry’s expression becomes more considering, and he reaches out again and trails his fingers over the side of Niall’s face, gently strokes over his jaw. 

“Scritchy,” he mutters. Then he drops his hand, looks away and slurps his coffee.

Dreadful. 

Niall tries to shake off the goosebumps now racing over his skin, and allows himself to admit he’s beginning to regret coming here. The atmosphere is too tense and frantic and he wasn’t mentally prepared for Harry to be in one of his weird moods like this. 

The coffee’s good so Niall might as well finish it, but once that’s done, he’ll make his excuses. He didn’t know what he was expecting really.

“So, everything OK with you then?” he tries, drumming his fingertips on the dark mahogany. 

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Well …” Harry’s eyes have drifted over to the TV in the corner where a news channel is on but muted. He blinks slowly at the re-running images of Theresa May losing yet another vote and shakes his head. “This Brexit stuff has turned into a nightmare though, hasn’t it?”

Niall feels his lips press tightly together. God, this small-talk is reaching new depths of inanity. They’ve done the relatives, haircuts and so now they’re onto current affairs. Next up - the weather! 

“A total disaster …” Harry shakes his head again. A flicker-tape is running across the screen - **NO DEAL** \- it proclaims. **BREXIT CRASH-OUT WITH IMMEDIATE EFFECT.**

Harry looks genuinely troubled, pinching his bottom lip. 

Irritation is spreading over Niall’s skin like an itch. The referendum result had been so close. If only a few more people in the public eye spoke up for _Vote Remain_ ... Might have made all the difference.

"Yeah well," he sighs, "It was a tough campaign. All those lies ... Tried to do me bit but ... hard to beat all those fear-mongers ..." 

Harry turns to him, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Yeah, fuck Niall, however did they cut you free?"

Niall frowns at Harry, confused, "Huh?"

"That time you chained yourself to the House of Parliament railings?" Harry's dimples are doing their thing again. "Your hunger strike for the Truth? Wow. I was impressed."

Niall snorts, which was not up to his usual standards of attractiveness now that he’s a model.

“I tweeted a few things,” he tells Harry. "Better than nothing."

There’s a pause, and then Harry raises one eyebrow slowly.

“Well done,” Harry grins at him, slapping his back. “I take it back. You put it all on the line, I see that now. Thank you for your sacrifice for the greater good. You are truly an inspiration.”

Niall narrows his eyes. “Shut up, Harry,” he says, "I'm might be the Rosa Parks of the digital age, for all you know." But then Harry's snickering into his coffee cup and Niall can't help laughing with him. Fucksake.

 

“OK then!” Jeff appears, grabbing Harry’s coffee-cup out of his hand, and taking a desperate swig. “Laughing. You’re happy about it all, obviously. That’s really great. Guess we should get on over to the church then.”

The worried look returns to Harry’s face.

“Uh Jeff …” he says over his fingers, still pinching at his lip, “I haven’t exactly gone through it all with Niall yet … in detail.”

Niall feels himself frown, and looks to Harry - who is staring intently at Jeff. 

“Gone through ...?” he asks, looking between them.

“So, Niall -” Harry starts, turning back to him and putting his cup down carefully, “this Brexit thing -”

“Oh!” Jeff looks stricken, checking at the time display on the front of his phone before turning back to Niall. “Is it because you haven’t read the prenup in full, Niall? The documentation is here - if you want to have a scan through before signing, that’s fine. It’s very standard stuff, but sure, no problem about checking through.”

He checks his phone again, still talking rapidly.

“The car is going to be here really soon, so we can give you 10 minutes for reading, but then we’ll need to get to the church. We're sorta on a deadline here. You guys need to be married in an hour or so. Shit! I still need to call Becky in Rotterdam about the German visas, though. Guys, we really need to get moving ...”

Niall slowly puts his coffee cup down too. He feels a little fuzzy, like something’s buzzing too close to his ears.

“Could you,” he says quietly, “just run that past me again, Jeff?”

 

There’s a smaller room further down the corridor - some kind of effort at a library probably, whenever Harry gets around to adding to his collection of five books that currently occupy the empty shelves.

Niall is leaning forward over a desk there now, hands spread wide over the gleamingly polished wood. Harry is standing beside him, rubbing his back, while Jeff spreads out various pieces of paperwork over its surface.

Niall had been cackling in laughter for about ten minutes straight, but after that his lungs just started wheezing in a weird way and he hasn’t quite been able to speak.

“Jeff, you broke my friend.” Niall hears Harry saying from somewhere in the distance. Strange that, since the pressure of his hand on Niall’s back is firm and warm and comfortingly close.

“You really gave me the impression we were further along in this though, Harry. To be fair.”

Jeff’s voice is also quite far away. It’s all very disconcerting. 

“So, to recap,” Niall manages to say, “you need an Irish passport, to facilitate Harry’s free movement across EU countries.” 

He lifts one hand to rub it over his clammy forehead, “and marrying me is the quickest way to get one. That’s it in summary, is it? That’s the plan?”

Niall feels Harry’s fingers sliding along his arms and then digging hard into the tense muscles of his shoulders. He squirms and manages to shake him off. “Could you stop that for a sec?”

Harry holds up his palms and retreats a few paces.

“You don’t need to go that far away,” Niall says, exasperated, “I’m not going to hit you.”

“I didn’t think you were?” Harry responds. “Just … maybe … hurl a bit or something …You look sorta … peaky?”

Niall tries to take a breath, but it comes out all shuddery. He _is_ feeling sorta peaky, to be perfectly honest.

“Can’t you just apply for non-EU travel visas?” he suggests, quite reasonably. It is a burden suddenly thrust upon him, apparently, to be the reasonable one. They never had one of those in One Direction. In retrospect, maybe that’s where they went wrong.

“The whole thing is a shit-storm, Niall!” Jeff is also decidedly peaky-looking. He keeps rearranging the neatly lined up paperwork and compulsively checking his phone screen. He looks as pale and damp as Niall feels.

“There aren’t even procedures in place yet for UK citizens! They don’t have the visa application forms on the websites yet for chrissakes! We’ve got appearances in three days. TV! Recordings for radio slots! We’re looking at 15 cancellations in the next three weeks alone.”

“And I don’t want to let the fans down…” Harry shakes his head, eyes widening at Niall, “I think they're going to be excited to hear some new songs -”

“It would cost a fucking fortune,” Jeff is actually wailing now.

“The Irish passport office can do a turnaround in three-days.” Harry adds, smiling encouragingly at Niall now. “So... Handy...”

Niall feels dizzy now. He turns and sits on the edge of the desk. “But what about everyone else - your band, the crew? Who are they all going to marry?” 

“We’ve sorted the Americans’ paperwork weeks ago, as always, that’s same as usual,” Jeff says in a stern tone that seems to indicate he’d quite like not to be taken for an idiot, thanks. “Everyone else can be replaced.”

“But not replaced exactly,” Harry interjects, raising a finger in objection. “Like, I’m really going to miss people. It won’t be the same at all. Everyone's unique and -”

“And is replaceable,” Jeff interrupts. “Except of course for you.”

“Aww!” Harry blinks rapidly, placing his hand over his heart, like he’s overcome, and smiles, “Thank you, Jeffrey.”

“We’ve really run through all the options, Niall,” Jeff says. “And yeah, so, this is a little out there, but no one needs to know. And once all the EU countries write up their new legislation and set up the travel processes for British people, then you guys can just have your quickie little divorce and it’s like it all never happened. Easy.”

Peasy. 

Lemon Squeezy.

“No.” Niall says. 

Now his own voice sounds far away. But like it’s far away inside his head? 

He looks up. Both Harry and Jeff are staring at him like he’s slapped them. 

“Oh.” Harry pinches his bottom lip again. “No, yeah, that’s fair. That’s fine.”

Jeff looks like his knees give way, and he sinks slowly into a leather recliner that’s, quite fortuitously, right behind him.

“Sorry,” Niall tries to speak calmly, but the shudder has now invaded his speech as well as his breath, “sorry, but. You can’t really be serious about this?”

“No, no, of course.” Harry nods. He looks crushed. Pale again, like he was when Niall arrived. Pale and tired and worn-out.

“Or,” guilt prickles at Niall’s spine, “Maybe … there’s someone else? I mean, I can’t be the only person you know with an EU passport?”

Harry’s eyes lock into Niall’s then. Lasers set to stun.

“There’s no one else I’d ever ask, Niall. There’s no one I trust more than I trust you.”

And. Well... 

Like, Niall knows Jeff is sitting right there. And that Harry trusts him completely. Just to take one example. But … there’s something about the way he says it, with those big eyes even huger than usual, and that soft openness of his expression … Niall feels himself yielding. 

“Harry I ... “ Niall shakes his head. 

Fuck.

He’s going to do it. He knows it. He hates it. This is insane. He can’t do this. He doesn’t do things this stupid. Ever. Especially Harry-related stupidity. He’s watched too many people makes fools of themselves for Harry to ever allow himself to go down that path. This is all so, so wrong.

He looks at Harry. Tries to speak.

“It’s OK, honestly,” Harry says, still gazing into Niall’s face, with that gentle tenderness shining through his bright eyes. “It was just a wild card option really. Sorry to put you in such an awkward position. It’s cool. C’mere.”

He holds out his arms, and Niall stumbles forward like a moth to a lamp - clumsily. Probably fatally. Then he’s swept up again into Harry’s strong arms and is being pressed into the warmth of Harry’s body.

“You’re one of my very best friends Niall,” Harry murmurs against the side of Niall’s head. “I love you so much.”

Goddamn it to hell and back with a short-handle spade.

Niall’s stupid heart, still sitting in an ooze of its own making, starts to pound. Harry loves him. So much. That’s what it heard. And it takes those words and squeezes them tightly inside each heartbeat, so they end up spreading in a gushing warmth right along his veins.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Niall exhales into Harry’s shoulder, his skin burning up now with that rush of blood. “OK then. Fucking OK. Let’s do it. I’ll do it.”

“Wait?!” Harry leans back and looks down into Niall’s face, “you’ll do it?”

Niall nods back at his bright smile. All the shaky, shudderiness has gone now, all of a sudden. And his voice is back now, clear and strong, when he says, “Yes, Harry. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

 

The priest doesn’t exactly seem all there.

“Where did you find this guy?” Niall murmurs to Jeff, their footsteps echoing as they make their way down the shadowy aisle. The small church was locked up when they arrived in the evening darkness, no lights on anywhere. After Glenne arrived in a second car and went knocking on various doors, the priest eventually toddled up, beckoning them over to a narrow side-entrance, which he unlocked with a huge ornate key.

He’s a frail-looking elderly gentleman with a gratuitious quantity of white nose hair, and of course he’s immediately charmed by Harry. The feeling seemed to be mutual. The priest is now firmly secured to Harry’s elbow as they make their way through the empty, echoing church. He seems to be introducing Harry by name to the various statues that stand at the base of the arching pillars, occasionally breaking into hymnsong as they progress.

“Contacts,” Jeff says vaguely. He’s still looking concerned, but then .. it seems that’s his standard expression if today is anything to go by. “I’ve been assured of his discretion.”

“Would that be,” Niall asks, watching as the priest tickles the chin of a baby Jesus portrait, before dashing through a doorway to the left of the altar, “because he isn’t going to remember anything that happens today?”

Jeff slaps a heavy hand down onto Niall’s shoulder and squeezes, “Whatever works, right? He’s still a registered celebrant, and can validate the licence. That’s all we need to worry about”

He follows Harry and Glenn through the doorway after the priest, leaving Niall to worry about the many other things they all should definitely be worrying about.

“Ladies and Gentlemen we are gathered here today to join together in marriage …” the priest is booming out as Niall enters the vestry. As a fellow professional performer, Niall has to hand it to him for projection, if not timing.

Harry whirls around to Niall, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. He’s got that giddy, stunned look on his face that always makes Niall chuckle. 

He makes a grabby hand gesture to Niall across the floor, as the priest drones on with his opener.

“We’re off!” he stage-whispers, “Come over here!! I can’t do this on my own!” 

And his hand closes around Niall’s, fingers intertwining, palms pressed together.

 

The messiness of the vestry is doing Niall’s head in - torn notices pinned to a corkboard, stacks of booklets piled on the floor, empty altar-wine bottles dumped in an ancient sink. Harry put a pause on proceedings to insist on candles, and now wax is dripping onto the threadbare carpet. It’s only when his name is announced that Niall’s attention whirls back to what is actually happening here.

“Repeat after me,” the priest intones in his sonorous voice, “I, Harry, take thee, Niall to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward…

Niall swallows tightly as Harry repeats the words. They’re facing each other, Jeff and Glenne at their elbows, and they are holding a bible, fingers entwined over its surface. It’s all getting a little sweaty to be honest. Niall figures, however, that despite the inauthenticity of the occasion, it would be a little inappropriate to wipe his hands dry on his arse.

“Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him, for long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Harry says. His skin is shining in the candlelight, his eyes gleaming bright. “Or, no! Actually. Wait!”

The priest sways a little. “Pardon me, young sir?”

“Sorry, just …” Harry’s smiling - no actually - he’s beaming. It seems like the old priest is just barely managing to stay upright in the face of all his youthful joyousness.

“I just … can we leave out the ‘forsaking all others’ bit? Sorry. I just ... I don’t want to say anything I don’t mean? Niall knows how it goes on tour. Is that OK, Father Richard?”

Niall swallows hard round the tight lump that forms in his throat as the priest waves a ‘very well then” and Harry says the vows again, leaving out the faithfulness reference, his eyes steady on Niall’s.

Niall can’t quite bear to keep holding his gaze, and he drops his eyes to look at their hands instead. He tries not to think about it - what Harry said. About the bits he means and the bits he doesn’t. But then the priest turns to him and says, “and do you Niall …”

“Same,” he says quickly, cutting off the priest. “Same here. I do. The same.”

The priests eyes turn steely. “You have to say vows, you know. Now few would accuse me of being a stickler for tradition or anything, but I really must insist on this.”

Niall briefly wonders if the priest has noticed that he’s marrying two men yet, or how that fact is sitting with his tradition-stickling, or the actual current rules of Catholicism, but Harry’s tilting his head to the side, and muttering “Yeah Niall, you have to say vows” so he grimaces and starts again.

“Harry,” he says decisively. And Harry blinks expectantly at him. 

Harry’s a good actor. Niall forgets that sometimes. You’d almost think he was holding his breath, waiting for Niall’s words with a racing heart, the warmth of his feelings pinkening his cheeks...

“Um, Harry …” Niall says again, not quite as certain as before. The cover of the bible in their hands has absorbed the warmth of their skin and feels like a living thing suddenly. The last time Niall remembers praying is on stage at X-Factor final, nervously waiting for the result to be announced. And although he definitely wouldn’t call himself a Catholic anymore, and isn’t actually sure if he’s behind the idea of organised religion at all, now that it’s his turn, every cell in his body is urging him to be truthful.

“Harry I promise …” Niall feels the words forming resolve inside him like steel in a foundry, “to always love you, comfort you, protect you -”

“Wait - that wasn’t in my bit,” Harry interrupts, “that’s good. I promise to protect you too.” His voice drops to a whisper, his eyes narrowing, “Like a Ninja!”

Niall nods quickly. “Right. And um … I promise to … ugh … honour you? I mean … I’ll always respect you and, like, … support your career … obviously...” 

Niall takes a moment to look pointedly at Jeff, who just nods quickly back, looking a bit greenish in pallor. 

“ … in sickness and health, for richer and poorer, for better or worse, for as long as we both shall live.”

Niall waits just a second or two. The moment when Harry could have interjected to add a vow to also support Niall’s career passes by without comment from anyone, which isn’t a great surprise. Niall finds himself heaving a sigh, and when he looks up Harry is smiling softly at him. It’s like all the love in the world is pooling there in his eyes.

Awful. He’s an awful, awful person.

“I now pronounce you husband and oh!” 

It only just now seems to dawn on the priest that there are two men standing in front of him, “Well, well,” he chuckles, “Husband and husband, then. How baroque!”

“Yay!” Harry says, sounding a little croaky, swinging Niall’s hand in his. His eyes are shining brightly.

“You may now …” the priest begins.

“Right then,” Jeff dashes up, fumbling with papers. There’s a small table in the corner that he now covers. “You guys need to sign here, and here…”

Niall drags his hands free from Harry’s, takes the pen Jeff’s holding out to him.

Fuck, he feels dizzy. Maybe he’s sick. He writes his name on the dotted line that Jeff’s helpfully pointing out to him. It’s swinging about wildly on the page, so he can only hope he’s hitting the mark OK. Someone’s rubbing his back again, and when he looks up he’s surprised to see it’s Glenne, smiling gently at him.

“You OK?” she asks softly, as Jeff dashes to stop the priest wandering out the door before he leaves without signing.

Niall nods quickly. He’s not sure why he’s feeling a bit sniffly suddenly.

But when Harry stands up after signing his name, Niall sees he’s not the only one. Harry’s eyelashes are looking suspiciously damp, eyes still too bright.

He scratches at the back of his head, laughing a wet little laugh that might as well be a cough. 

“Feel a bit weird,” Harry laughs weakly. “Wow. I just got married! Fucking hell! … Oh but wait! We didn’t do the rings! How’d we forget the fucking rings? Oh shit - now I’m swearing in a church… Fucking hell...”

He actually crumples up a bit then, rubbing shoving the knuckles of his fists into his eyes.

“Oh sweetheart,” Gleene says, abandoning Niall and reaching over to hug Harry. 

He eventually starts to laugh into her shoulder and when they let go, she links arms with him.

“Hey, let’s go somewhere and get a drink,” she says, “I think everyone could use one. Jeff will get the paperwork sorted. Let’s go find the cars.”

And then Niall is left standing alone in the church vestry, a lone candle burning in a candelabra set on top of a filing cabinet, a tilted picture of the Sacred Heart looking down questioningly at him.

“Sorry about all that,” Niall whispers to it, and blows out the candle.

 

Niall goes out into the main nave of the church, wandering in the general direction of Jeff’s voice which is floating through the gloom. 

He is still dazed or sick or something, he thinks. He feels unsteady on his feet. And the blank-eyed watchfulness of all the stoney saints on their plinths is making the back of his neck prickle. 

He takes a second to rest against one of the pillars, closing his eyes, taking a slow breath. He tries to remember some calming visualisation exercises from his time with that therapist in L.A. There was a nice one he used to like - a rock in a gentle mountain stream. Peace and stillness in the midst of the flowing current.

He leans into the pillar, but the image he conjures of the stream quickly grows and grows, until it’s a wild, raging ocean. There are petrels swooping overhead, crying into gale force winds. Rain is hammering down. And he’s there, holding tightly to the rock. He’s just a tiny barnacle clinging to stone. 

He opens his eyes. Yeah, he’s some fucking barnacle all right. Clinging onto something that doesn’t care he exists. He’s a fucking idiot.

He peers into the darkness until he eventually makes out Jeff, sitting on a pew at the end of the aisle, sliding envelopes and papers into a briefcase - probably their signed marriage certificate Niall realises with a jolt.

“Jeff!” he rushes down the aisle.

“Listen Jeff,” Niall checks into the shadows all around to make sure no one is close enough to hear, “It’s just … I’m starting to feel really uncomfortable about all this. I think we might have rushed into it and …”

Jeff’s a young guy. But if he's not careful, he's not going to make it to be an old guy. He really does look like he’s on the brink of an aneurism. There are deep lines scored into his forehead and his eyes widen dramatically at Niall’s words. Shit. He’s not going to cry is he?

“Niall, I can’t …” Jeff is squeezing his shoulder, “I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful we are for this. I mean, it means so much to Harry. He really wants to make an impact with the singles this time around, you know? Really wants to get the radio play. He’s all set for so much promo - it’s gonna make all the difference - getting out there, doing appearances, TV, all that. If he isn't able to travel we're screwed. You have really saved the day, here. I mean it.”

Niall bites at his thumbnail. And he’s given that up. 

“No one’s going to find out about this are they?” he asks Jeff. “‘Cos that would be-”

“No! No!” Jeff smiles in a very sharp, forced kind of way, “Absolutely not. That would be …”

He shakes his head, an expression of utter horror on his face. “That would not be a good thing. No. It’s all going to be very discreet. And very temporary. Soon as this Brexit shit is sorted - we’ll get you a quiet divorce and no one will ever know a thing.”

Niall nods at him. He’s not convinced. He’s still biting his thumb.

Jeff sighs, looks carefully at Niall. 

“Niall, it’s … Harry needs this, you know? If there was any other way … and … I know you care about him, a lot, and there’s like ...some history there with you two … but-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Niall mutters, pulling away. Goddammit. What’s Harry told him? Suddenly Niall just wants to get away. Fuck it. It’s done now. He’s just going to get back to work and not think about it all until he has to sign the divorce papers. 

This never happened.

“I’ll go now, I think …” Niall tells Jeff, thumbing over his shoulder in the direction of the side entrance, but Jeff is already distracted by a call coming into his mobile, sits back onto the pew, phone to his ear.

Niall slowly turns and makes his way out. 

He’s finally made it to the side entrance, is moving through the vestibule towards the door, when two long arms wrap around his chest from behind.

“Niaaalll! Where’d you go? I thought I’d lost you!” 

Niall twists inside Harry’s arms but that just ends up with them facing each other, very close together, which is worse, so in the end he has to actually push Harry away.

Harry staggers a bit but doesn’t seem put out about it. He’s grinning away to himself, all giddy and hearty. “Aren’t you supposed to be carrying me over a threshold or something about now?”

Niall feels his eyes widen as he casts about to check that no one heard him.

“Falling behind on your husbandly duties already …” Harry smiles, shaking his head slowly at Niall.

Footsteps pass by outside. 

“Harry!” Niall hisses, listening to them disappear again. “Come on! Someone might have heard that. Please cop on.”

Harry looks even more amused by Niall’s distress. He clutches his hands over his heart.

“Oh no! You're not annoyed with me already? Five minutes into our married life together??!” 

Niall feels his eyes widen. Harry's not even _attempting_ to lower his voice. He's almost sure he can hear his deep-toned words echoing around inside the church. There could be anyone in there, hiding in the shadows.

“Harry shut up!”

Harry laughs louder. “Are we fighting?? Nooo! On our _wedding day_??!”

Niall’s heart is thundering inside his chest. He thinks he can hear footsteps again. Harry isn’t shutting up, why won’t Harry shut up?

“Our love can overcome, Niall! We can make it!" 

“Please stop talking ...”

Niall's now definite he's hearing footsteps outside. Jesus, what if the paps trailed them?

"But our _vows_ Niall..."

Someone could be outside right now, listening to all this ... _recording_ all this ... He has to shut up. Harry has to shut up ...

"Till death do us part, remember? And-” 

Niall grabs Harry, squeezing fistfuls of that soft hoodie material, and shoves him backwards until they both clunk into the grimy stone wall. They both exhale a _hughmmmmph_ with the force of it, and then - sweet baby Jesus and all those marble saints - Niall’s lips are on Harry’s. 

How? Why? Who started it? Niall's not making this happen, he's sure he's not, but his hands cup Harry’s face, his thumbs pressing hard into his jaw. And he’s kissing him - hard and rough, all heat and breathlessness and fervent pressure. 

Niall’s body is pushing into Harry’s. He feels Harry sink back against the wall behind him, soften like melting chocolate. He opens up for Niall, spreading his legs when Niall presses in harder, parting his lips, and grunting when Niall's tongue darts against his. 

Fuck he's gorgeous. Niall bites down on Harry's bottom lip and the noise Harry makes in response isn't something that should ever be heard inside a church.

Something slams - a door maybe, further inside.

Niall pulls back, heart thumping. 

Fuck.

Harry’s breath is coming in short pants through his open lips.

They're just staring at each other, unmoving, silent.

Niall untwists his fingers from Harry's top and edges back.

The footsteps Niall heard are now fading away in the distance. It's quiet. It's all gone so quiet.

Niall can't help marvelling at that.

So. That's how to shut him up, then.

Harry's staring at him, eyes glazed and wide.

“How’s that for husbandly duties?” Niall finds himself saying. His voice comes out low and rough.

Harry gapes back at him limply. His mouth’s still dropped open, lips reddened and shiny, blush staining his high cheekbones.

Then, after a few moments pass, he blinks, and a slow, filthy smile spreads over his face.

And... oh.

Oh fuck.

Niall just whirls around and rushes out the door. He runs down the short path into one of the waiting cars, slamming the door behind him. 

"Drive."

He gives his address to the driver, slumps back on his seat and tries to steady his breath. When he bites his lip, he tastes Harry.

Awful.

An awful, awful person.

And then ... Niall starts to grin too.


	2. Chapter 2

Niall’s busy. 

Well he’s not. 

Sure, he’s got stuff going on. He’s writing an album. He does another sports commentary podcast. He’s sorting out a few promo bits with the golf company. Also, he’s also a model now. But his days feel weirdly empty and aimless, suddenly. When he finds himself colour-sorting socks for the third time in a row in the space of five days, he knows there’s shit going down. Like, inside the murkiest corners of his brain. The parts it usually seems imperative to ignore.

So, ignoring the sage advice of that therapist he paid all that money to, he decides to get busier. 

He jumps on a plane to see Shawn’s show in Amsterdam. Wakes up naked, hungover and still slightly stoned in a bed that seems too rumpled to have been occupied by just one person. Sleeps it off on another plane to Scotland, so he can cheer on Guido at Gleneagles. Has a nice time with a pretty publicist he takes back to his hotel after the Champions Dinner that evening. Engages in some social media bantering with Lewis about visiting his homeland. (Except the posh parts don’t count, apparently). Stalks Twitter for mentions of his name and doles out laughing-cry-face emojis to knock back the stupidest comments he finds.

It would be nice, probably, to be able to chill for an hour or two. Just sit quietly on the stone-grey plains on his vast sofa, maybe strum a bit, just drift there like he’s been marooned. But this edgy aimlessness that’s descended just won’t go away.

And every time he yields to the temptation to search for Harry’s name in the middle of his Twitter stalking, it seems to amp up the feeling even more. There have been a lot of media appearances. A lot of Harry smiling and blinking slowly at heavily accented interviewers, not much of coherent question-answering.

Appalling.

So Niall goes to the gym, pushes it hard, posts a selfie of himself in a tank top, all sweat-drenched and tousled, two days worth of scruff on his chin. Figures some of his fans might appreciate a bit of rough. He's a multi-faceted guy after all.

And that’s when Niall’s phone beeps with a text alert. It’s from Harry.

_\- You said you’d pay the gas-bill but the man’s been round, and now it’s cut off._

Niall stares at the phone screen. He’s still blinking in incomprehension when another one arrives.

_\- I don’t know why I didn’t listen to my mother. She warned me about men like you!_

Niall knows his face has basically become a human manifestation of WTF???

_\- If you’ve been down the bookies with this week’s rent again, so help me …_

Niall frowns. OK. Right. That’s … that’s just fine. He thinks a bit, then starts to type -

_Get your glad rags on pet . Horse came in 15 to 1 !!! We're going out on the town tonight ! xxx_

He chews the corner of his thumbnail, watching the three little dots appear …

_\- I can’t go out. I’ve just put my curlers in._

Niall chuckles a little. 

_Well get them out again sweetheart . We’re going dancing ._

And then Niall thinks and adds a second text -

_And wear your blue dress baby you know I love you in that blue dress ._

He waits and eventually another text arrives.

_\- I love it too. It matches your eyes, you handsome man._

 

The financial circumstances of Harry and Niall’s pretend marriage seem to swing about wildly, in correlation with the aesthetic of Niall’s most recent selfies. 

After someone tags him and Mully, wearing their best suits at a friend’s wedding, a text comes in from Harry: 

_\- Don’t forget darling, it’s little Abigail’s gymkhana this weekend. She’s so excited that you’ll be there!_

Also, it seems they have children now.

_Where'd we get the ponies ? :D Thought we couldn’t pay the gas bill last week ?_

_\- Don’t be silly dearest. You bought them for the twin’s birthday last year! Abigail and Tarquin were so excited!_

_Please tell me we didn’t call our children Abigail and Tarquin ._

_\- O you are funny. How you make me laugh! Hurry home from your business trip, dearest!_

 

And sometimes they’re American, and Harry’s a bored 1950’s housewife and apparently Niall’s a bit too fond of the whiskey. Usually, Niall’s the one who is away - being a travelling salesman, an army man. Sometimes Harry sends these killer little throwaways that aren’t part of any fantasy _\- hey, two weeks ago today! Happy Anniversary! - How are you today, my friend? - Lovya ya Nialler!_

And then, Niall’s back in a space rocket on his way to the moon and Harry’s standing in their back garden in the NASA officer compound telling him to _\- Wave down to me darling. The moon’s bright tonight._ and sending Niall voice notes of him singing _Moon River_.

It’s a good laugh really. Niall’s beginning to quite enjoy being married to Harry. They haven’t talked this much in … well … years really. Even if it is just all nonsense. They always laughed. That’s why Niall reckoned on them always being OK, in the end. 

Until the text arrives one day - 

_You know what’s crazy? We never had a honeymoon!_

Niall tries to remember where they are in the current narrative. He thought this time he was the highschool jock who knocked up the homecoming queen so he starts to text - _but who’s gonna babsit?_ \- when the next text comes through before he has a chance to send it.

_\- I’ve got a few days clear next week. You should come and stay with me. It’s gorgeous here._

_\- Italy. btw._

_\- Tuscany_

_\- Private villa. Very private._

Niall is trying to work out whether or not it’s really Harry asking him, this time, and hasn’t answered when another text comes in - 

_\- We haven’t hung out in ages. I miss you. Come visit me Niall!!!!_

Niall just keeps staring at the phone screen looking for any kind of clue whether or not this is real. He types -

_Can’t chance it. The last time I visited you look what happened haha!_

There. Niall’s happy with that. Sorta jokey, sorta also hints that he’s open to persuasion. The response comes through straight away -

_Exactly!!! Damage done now!! Fly into Florence. Text me the flight details & I’ll have a car meet you._

And Niall’s busy. Much too busy to just drop everything and take off to Florence at a drop of a hat. 

Except he’s not.. 

 

Niall arrives late in the evening, feeling slightly car-sick after the long winding roads from the airport. He follows the woman who answers the door out to the back garden and gathers he’s just missed a long dinner or something. Empty wine glasses are scattered over the long wooden table, moths fluttering around fairy-light strings that are draped around a pergola.

Niall looks around - the villa is perched high up on a hill with views over the Italian country-side. The lights of a town are twinkling far below. A gentle breeze is swaying the surrounding cypress trees and the last traces of a hazy sunset are fading into the sky.

He could enjoy this. Just throw in a Sky Sports subscription and he’s set for the week.

Niall spots Harry finally - sitting cross-legged on a rock, half-way up an incline, neat shrubbery and flowerbeds framing him so he looks like he’s been installed there for sculptural value.

“Hai fame?” the maid asks Niall, drawing his attention away, patting her stomach and gesturing at her mouth.

“Um, a little …” Niall pinches at a small space in the air, and she smiles and nods, disappearing back into the house.

When Niall turns back, Harry’s making his way unsteadily down the garden path. He’s got a wine glass in his hand and he’s wearing some kind of billowing shirt and the effect overall is rakish and dissolute and sexy and terrible.

Coming here was possibly a mistake.

“Ciao Niall!” Harry stumbles towards him, waving his glass at him, red liquid spilling over the back of his hand. He stops to lick it off, his tongue chasing the drops as they run up along the inside of his wrist.

A fucking terrible mistake.

“Ciao Harry,” Niall calls back, weakly.

And then Harry reaches him and kisses him on each cheek, saying loudly “ _mwah mwah_ ciao ciao! Benvenuto!!”

He leans back and smiles. “Thought you’d be here earlier. Was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“Yeah well,” Niall shrugs, “airports are hell to get through these days. Queues everywhere. All you Brits looking for visas and travel permits”

“Not me though! Not this Brit! Sailing through on my Irish passport.”

Niall laughs. “Glad it’s working out.”

Harry keeps beaming at him. 

“‘m so happy yer here…” he says and then bops on his heels just once before leaning in again and kissing Niall mushily on the lips. There’s a wafting scent of wine and the taste of tannin.

So Harry’s well sloshed then. 

Niall has to admit a great fondness for Drunk Harry. It’s like his mind goes drifting so far off, he has to grab onto the world around him extra hard to keep his body tethered. He gets very quiet and dreamy but also clingy and handsy and if you are very gentle with him he is very amenable to being guided about. So Niall hugs him back and leaves one arm wrapped around his waist to lead him back towards the house.

“Thanks for inviting me. It’s nice here.”

Harry tightens his arm over Niall’s shoulder and snuggles in to him, leaning his head down against Niall’s shoulder. Harry’s taller so they don’t fit that way, and they trip over each other’s feet at least twice, but Niall's sees no reason to suggest letting go.

“Did you have a party here, earlier?” Niall asks - nodding at the detritus on the table as they make their way unsteadily towards it.

“Nah, juss a dinner with Jeff and a few people. Few drinks. Lovely wine. Was lovely.”

Niall chuckles a bit, and that makes Harry laugh too, his mouth dipping down against Niall’s neck. 

“Can’t hold your liquor, Styles,” Niall says. “You’re a disaster, aren’t ya?”

“Here,” Harry holds what’s left in his glass in front of Niall’s lips, “you try it then. Sober pants.”

It tastes like Harry’s kiss. It’s big and bold, darkly fruity. 

“It’s delicious,” Niall says, looking at Harry’s lips, stained deep red.

Harry beams at him, like he’d created it himself. “Delicious!” he crows, throwing his arms wide. “And!” He leans into Niall again, a devilish grin on his face, “there’s lots more!!”

 

They slot in at the table just as the maid emerges with a tray.

“Ah! Grazie Maria!” Harry tells her as she places various plates of bread, cheeses, tomatoes and olives in front of them. “Thank you. This looks good. Bella!”

She cups his face, and clucks at him in a motherly way. “Troppo vino, Harry. Vai a letto, il mio dolce ragazzo.”

“I will, I will,” Harry says, “I’ll go to bed, promise. Soon as my husband eats.”

Niall freezes, but Maria hasn’t reacted, except to try to flap away Harry’s efforts to help her gather the used dishes from earlier. When he reaches to pick up the full tray, Niall tugs at the back of his shirt to force him to sit back down.

“Let her do it, Harry. You’re a liability at the moment.”

Harry laughs and slumps back onto the bench against Niall. 

“Aren’t you going to eat,” Niall asks after a while. Harry’s been staring at him, chin in his hand, watching him chew. It’s not exactly an aid to easy digestion.

Harry shakes his head. “‘Member when you were a little blondie?” he asks then.

Niall laughs lightly. “I remember the hours of my life getting it bleached that I’ll never get back.”

Harry’s still staring.

“‘Member how we were? Me and you?”

Niall reaches for the wine and takes a gulp. What’s he supposed to say to that? 

He looks up and meets Harry’s eyes.

“It all seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it?” he manages to say. They were just kids after all. Incautious and greedy. Excited to hand over their hearts. Feeling unbreakable.

“Sometimes …” Harry says, his voice hardly audible. “Sometimes not so much …”

Niall rips up the piece of crusty bread.

He looks up helplessly at Harry.

“Why did you …?” he stops. Harry’s hand has just slipped from under his chin but he bops up again immediately, blinking hard to refocus onto Niall.

Niall huffs a laugh, and shakes his head. Stupid. Harry’s drunk. Niall’s stupid. 

“Why don’t you get to bed, Harry?”

Harry nods drowsily, still watching Niall with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Come on,” Niall stands and holds out a hand to Harry, pulling him to his feet.

 

Inside, there’s no sign of Maria or anyone else, and Harry drifts along in front of Niall, down a dark corridor, up some steps, and finally opens a door to a bedroom.

“Night then,” Niall says, pulling away.

But Harry makes a disgruntled noise and pulls on his arm, dragging him into the room with him.

“You sleep here,” Harry says, his voice heavy and sleepy. “Don’t go ‘way …”

He keeps tugging until Niall follows. He’ll just tuck him in, maybe. Figure it all out afterwards. Hopefully he’ll find where Maria’s put his suitcase and find an empty bed he can sleep in.

Harry’s wriggling out of his clothes and crawls over the bedcovers in just his briefs. Niall wouldn't think of himself as the kind of creeper who takes the drunkenness of idiots as opportunities to stare at their naked bodies, but he can’t help looking, noticing Harry’s long limbs and tight muscles, the dark splodges of new tattoos. He doesn’t know him like he used to, he realises. There was a time he knew every inch of soft, pale skin, every mole and tiny mark, all the places to kiss that would make Harry shake apart.

Niall blinks away the uninvited memories that are burgeoning at the edges of his mind.

Harry’s collapsed flat onto his front.

“Come here,” he says thickly, his voice half-muffled by the pillow. “Please Niall…”

Niall hesitates. Then he cautiously moves over, kicking off his shoes and getting onto the mattress.

Harry sighs contentedly when Niall stretches out beside him. He reaches an arm out and lays it over Niall’s stomach, wriggling down until his head is on Niall’s shoulder.

“‘Member…” he mutters. Then he’s snoring in two seconds.

Niall blinks up at the blank ceiling. Remembering.

 

Niall is used to waking up in strange beds so he doesn’t panic when, next morning, it takes him a few seconds to remember where he is, why he’s there, whose warm body is pressing into his. 

He cracks open an eye, sees a green one staring straight back at him across the pillow, squeezes it shut again.

Oh yes. 

Harry. He’s with Harry.

Niall stays quiet, not moving. Maybe Harry will start snoring again, so Niall can take the opportunity to sneak out. Then Harry can act all casual and easy later on, like nothing went on the night before. After all, that’s what used to always happen …

The mattress dips as Harry rolls over, and Niall thinks he’s on a winner but instead of the gentle snuffling noise he was expecting, there are two strong arms wrapping around him and he’s being pulled tightly up against an expanse of firm warm skin.

“Huurmmph!” is all he manages to say, which is really only due to the air basically being squeezed from his lungs rather than any conscious intent.

Harry just rolls them over so that now Niall’s resting on top of him, still being compressed inside the vise-grip of Harry’s arms. He tries to lift his head to politely express his protest at being treated to this death-roll, but Harry’s hand spreads over the back of his head and pushes him back down into his chest. God, his skin's so smooth against Niall's cheek.

Niall feels some kisses being dropped on the top of his head. 

“There now,” Harry murmurs, his voice low and rumbly, “doesn’t that feel good? Waking up inside the loving arms of your husband?”

“Annoying arms …” he mutters into Harry’s chest.

Niall manages to wriggle a leg free, and knees at Harry’s thigh.

“Hey now - don’t damage the goods,” Harry says, squirming under him, “think about our future offspring…”

But he loosens his grip, just enough to let Niall gulp for air. He keeps his arms around Niall but rolls them both back so they’re on their sides. He slides downwards in the bed so they’re facing each other, heads on the same pillow, just like when Niall woke up.

Harry props a hand under his head, and smiles at Niall, his face still puffy with sleep, eyes not fully open. The broad world is intimately acquainted with the handsomeness of Harry’s face, but a crackle of electricity sparks inside Niall that he gets to see this Harry - unshaven and sleep-creased in the shadowy bedroom light, double-chinned thanks to the angle. Not that pretty at all, really. If you squint. And tell lies to yourself.

“The offspring?” Niall croaks. It took it out of him - that hug. “You mean Tarquin and Abigail?”

“Well, I was thinking instead about Billi-Jean?” Harry opens his eyes wide in emphasis, “you know, our child we’re raising gender-neutrally?”

Niall laughs and rolls his face into the pillow. “Harry …”

“Just until they’re old enough to determine for themselves, what they feel they are.”

“That sounds great, Harry,” Niall says, looking back up at him. “I’m glad we’re doing that.”

Harry grins at him. He hesitates for a second and then leans across the pillow and plants a soft kiss on Niall’s forehead.

“Me too,” he says. Then he drops his head back onto his side of the pillow. “G’morning.”

Niall has a huge urge to lean over and pop a kiss onto Harry’s forehead in return, but he looks away instead, twisting his fingers around the sheet. He’s hot and uncomfortable - still fully dressed from last night, and he’s got that scratchy feeling inside his skin that comes from not sleeping properly.

Also - he’s not sure what the hell is going on right now. He thought, when he arrived last night, that the vibe he was getting from Harry was just down to drunkenness. But now, in the soft morning light, Harry’s being all sweet and touchy and affectionate. He doesn’t understand. 

He opens his mouth, but fails to come up with anything so he stops, sighs.

Harry’s hand is on his shoulder, stroking gently down along his arm. If Niall yielded to it, if he reached forward and put his hand on Harry’s waist, mirrored his gentle fingers … 

But instead he forces himself to look directly and Harry, and ask, “Harry - what’s happening here?”

Harry shrugs, eyes steady on Niall’s. “Just thought it would be nice to spend my days off with my husband.”

Niall sighs again.

“OK.”

He rolls away from Harry and sits up, feet back on the floor. His clothes are all twisted, shirt digging into his armpits.

“Can I take a shower?” he asks. Since we’re obviously not going to talk about anything real, he doesn’t add aloud. Some things never change.

Harry yawns loudly. “Sure. Down the hall on the right.” 

Harry rolls away, wrapping the sheet tight around himself. As Niall leaves he hears him exhale a long, slow breath.

 

 

The shower helps. Niall feels steadier when he emerges from the steaming water - like it’s rinsed off all his foolishness. Because of course this whole thing is in his head. Harry’s just being Harry. He’s always touched Niall like that. Like - too much. Even on stage or in front of a crowd on a red carpet - Harry’s caressed him, kissed him, grabbed his actual balls at an awards show, come to think of it. 

And if things sometimes went a little further, if there were moments in the quiet dark of a hotel room, a time when the touches lingered, the kisses deepened, then that just belongs to how they were back then. It’s just part of the madness they shared. 

That madness. The whirling, frantic, pace of it all. The hysteria all around them, it reached its tendrils into the edges of your consciousness. You had to find something to cling to, someone who’d hold your hand as you hurtled along together.

Then Harry said he wanted to get off the ride. And it was OK, really, it all worked out OK. Everyone’s still friends. Well … almost everyone. Niall’s worked hard at making it work. Letting go of what once was and stepping forward onto his new path - his new music, new relationships. Letting things change. That’s what he worked out with his therapist - everything changes - go with it or go mad. 

So. Whatever he has now with Harry - it’s not like the old days. He’s just here for an old friend. And Harry’s being Harry. Keeping things friendly, keeping him on-side, probably, while all this marriage business has to go on, avoiding complications until they get it sorted out. And if he feels like a snuggle while doing that, well then, maybe that would be OK?

That’s OK. Niall doesn’t mind. He wants to be friends with Harry too. On reflection… he’s a grown man now. He can snuggle without it being a crisis. He doesn’t need stuff to get complicated either. 

Everything changes. Niall’s down with that.

 

Niall found the room that had obviously been ear-marked for him - his case placed neatly at the foot of the bed. 

There’s a huge TV screen on the wall and as he dresses he flicks through the channels until he’s reasonably caught up on the current and sporting affairs of the last 24 hours. Brexit’s still a mess. The seaports are all blocked up. He’s relieved he’s not touring - trying to get equipment through that disaster… nightmare.

He picks out something nice to wear - shorts and a linen shirt, and fixes his hair with product. He decides against shaving. The stubble works he reckons. He checks himself in the mirror before leaving the room. He looks good. Sorta sexy if he gets his angles right. 

Not that he’s thinking about that. It’s not like he’s planning anything...

 

There doesn’t seem to be anyone about when Niall makes his way from his bedroom. The kitchen is huge and warm, and he struggles for ages to get the gas lit and figure out the old-fashioned stove-top coffee pot. He’s screwing the two sections back together when Harry shuffles in, naked again apart from his underwear and a huge towel draped over his shoulders. 

He wriggles his fingers at Niall in hello and watches him struggle to balance the pot over the burner for a minute. Then he turns to a cupboard, opens the door and clicks on the Nespresso machine that’s in there.

Harry faces Niall again as the machine hums away, and blinks blankly at him. 

Niall snorts, turns back to his pot “This coffee is going to be better, anyway.”

Harry nods sleepily. He collects his full cup from the Nespresso machine and shuffles outside. 

“You do you, Niall,” he says as he disappears through the door.

Niall laughs. Fucker.

 

“So how do you plan to entertain me today, then?” Niall asks.

They’re settled with their coffees at the table outside. Niall’s is grainy and bitter but he’s not going to admit that. To cover up the taste, he picks at the plate of sweet pastries that had been left under a cloche for them.

“Well Niall ..” Harry waggles his eyebrows at him. “The plans I have …”

“Yeah?”

“They will blow your mind!”

Niall laughs. “You haven’t anything planned, do you?”

Harry grins at him. He’s all chirpy and sweet this morning. The fluffy towel around him making him look like a bundled up little babe.

He’s obviously been in a sunnier climate since the last time they met - his skin has bronzed. And even though Niall knows his been working relentlessly, he looks rested, happy.

He gestures at the gardens that spill into the hillside. “There’s all this, Niall. This requires a lot of lying about and gazing at, don’t you think?”

Niall laughs, “Not your style though is it? Sitting about doing nothing?”

“Hey I can do nothing.” Harry rips a piece of croissant and tosses it at Niall. “I’m the best at doing nothing. Like, if there was a competition for doing nothing, I’d win.”

Niall laughs at him. “Sounds right. OK then. Nothing it is.”

He swivels on the bench, props his hands behind him and puts his feet up along its length. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes, feels the sun’s warmth on his face. Birds are twittering in the trees. A breeze is rustling the leaves. Lovely.

Harry is drumming his fingers on the tabletop. 

“OK then,” Niall hears him say, “let’s go for a spin.”

Niall laughs again. “You cracked after 30 seconds, man! Honestly!”

But Harry’s up and darting back into the kitchen, his towel streaming from his shoulders like a kid playing superhero. Niall can hear him laughing from inside. 

 

Their “spin” is being conducted via a cherry red 1962 Ferrari California Spyder.

Niall gulped when the garage door rattled up and revealed its shiny curves.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Harry grins at him, “comes with the house rental. Come on then. Hop in. Let’s go exploring.”

Harry seems to know his way about, darting around the narrow lanes, over hilltops, along the golden fields. The engine growls noisily but a blue-tooth stereo system has been installed so Niall picks through his music and they sing along while the wind whips their hair around.

They keep moving all day - just brief stops here and there to get out and stretch, see what’s about. They stand at the edge of a vineyard and gaze at a castle towering on a hillside. They walk around the walls of an old monastery, listening to gregorian chant emanating from inside. They stop at a small village where the owner of the bar greets Harry like an old friend and they end up staying there, sitting inconspicuously at a table behind an olive tree, while plate after plate arrives out to them - pasta, salads, grilled lamb. There’s more of that robust juicy wine, which Harry mostly leaves to Niall since he’s driving. 

Niall doesn’t think he’s ever tasted anything so good in his life. It’s all almost too good ...

After they’ve paid up and thanked the proprietor, they take the long way back to the car.

Harry shoves his sunglasses up into his hair as they stroll. He frowns down at the ground in front of him.

“There’s this beautiful piazza in the next town,” he tells Niall, kicking at a pebble, “but it’s pretty touristy so …”

So if they go there, they’ll end up being one of the sights to be photographed. 

“We could get up super-early tomorrow, and try it, if you like?” 

Niall just smiles at Harry. “Not sure we should chance it.”

“And there’s a village about a half-hour away,” Harry says. “There’s a volcanic hot spring right in the centre. You can just sit there in your swimmies, taking a bath. Imagine doing that down Main Street, Mullingar.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere else, Harry.”

But Harry signs and kicks his stone far into the street. “Do you ever …”

“Yeah,” Niall says, quietly, not waiting for Harry to finish. He catches Harry’s eye. “But you know … payoff for having your dreams come true, right?”

Harry nods, a half-smile on his face. “They’ve not all come true yet though.”

Then he looks away quickly and that thrill of uncertainty flowers inside Niall again. 

He shakes his head. “You are terrifying, Styles,” 

Harry frowns at him. “Why?”

Niall just laughs and walks on.

When they round the corner, two teenage girls are beside Harry’s car - posing for selfies with it.

Harry laughs back at Niall - “Upstaged by a piece of machinery, Niall - can you believe it?”

He walks over to the girls, calling “Heeey! You like the auto?”

For a second they look stunned, then they catch each others’ eyes, and collapse into giggles, clutching each other’s arms.

One spots Niall approaching too. She points, issues a very short, very high-pitched squeal that makes the two girls collapse into giggles again.

Niall can’t help laughing along too, and then Harry shoots a look back at Niall and joins in. The four of them stand about, helpless, gasping for breath. Ridiculous. 

One of the girls bounces over to Harry, holding up her phone to take a picture, gabbling away in Italian at a million miles a minute.

Harry dips out, smiling, gently pushing down her arm.

“Do you mind if we don’t? No photo? OK?”

She looks a little confused, but then he takes her hand, kisses the back of it. “It’s lovely to meet you. What is your name?”

Niall snorts. Fucking charmer.

The other girl seems to be the only one who speaks english, and she steps forward to breathlessly introduce her friend and herself.

They’re cute. Blushing and giggly. But Niall tips his head towards the car when he can catch Harry’s eye and they gently extract themselves.

The girls wave them off when Harry’s pulls the car away - “Ciao Niall! Ciao Harry!”

 

“I don’t think they’ll have guessed it’s our honeymoon,” Harry says seriously as the village disappears behind them.

Niall raises an eyebrow and him, but refrains from saying anything. He settles his head back against the seat-rest. Feels his eyes start to blink sleepily. Day-drinking may not have been the wisest decision.

Harry shoots him a cheeky grin. 

“Are you enjoying our honeymoon, dearest?”

“Feels like there’s an important component we’re forgetting,” Niall says. 

And then he blinks his eyes wide open again. Shit. What did he just say?

Harry laughs beside him.

“We can have swim, in the pool, when we get back,” Harry says. “That’s what you meant, right? Swimming?”

“Yep,” Niall says, eyes fixed wide on the road ahead, heart pounding. 

Harry takes the bends too fast for the rest of the drive back. Like he’s in a rush. .

 

 

When Harry parks up, Niall follows him around the corner of the building onto a lower terrace where a pool is glinting in the slanting evening sunshine. The terrace is built into the hillside rockface, and Harry clambers over the boulders until he’s standing on the highest point. He puts his hands on his hips, surveying everything beneath him like some kind of 19th century lord overseeing his property boundaries.

“What are you doing Harry?”

He’s ridiculous. He really is. Niall doesn’t know how he put up with him for five years straight.

Harry doesn’t answer but takes his phone out of his pocket and places it carefully on the rock at his feet. He kicks his shoes off, then he looks deliberately at Niall and raises his arms.

“No… seriously Harry. Don’t.”

Harry blows him a kiss. The sunset captures him in its peachy, hazy glow. 

“I am a golden god!” he yells, then jumps.

He plummets in a neat line into the pool, feet first, in a loud plunk. The water ripples in concentric circles from the point where Harry disappeared, and then he emerges, moments later, puffing and spluttering. 

Niall just shakes his head at him. 

“Jump Niall!” Harry calls up. He’s still coughing, rubbing his hand down over his face. His hair has plastered down onto his skin. He coughs again. “It’s very refreshing.”

“I will yeah…” Niall laughs, not moving. If it was anyone else, if it was Mully or Connor or any one of his other friends, Niall would be taking out his phone now and posting a picture of this to the ‘gram. ‘Cos it’s funny. This drowned rat of a former boybander. Serve him up for entertainment, that’s what he’s made for, right?

But he won’t. Won’t even take a picture just to keep for himself. Because he knows the look that would cross Harry’s face if he were to take his phone out. The way his features will lock down into a pleasant, blank expression and set there, stonily.

“When though?”

Harry splashes over to the side of the pool and places a hand on the edge, close to Niall’s feet.

“When will you jump Niall?”

He stills in the water, sinking down so the lower half of his face is underwater but his eyes are fixed steadily on Niall. A tendril of hair is sticking down over the right side of his face, tangling with his wet eyelashes when he blinks. 

When will Niall jump?

“Come on …” Harry holds up his hand to Niall, after a minute of heavy silence. “Help me out then, if you’re not going to come in.”

Niall starts to crouch, to extend a hand, but he stops himself. Harry’s going to drag him in, isn’t he? 

When will Niall jump? Never. Not ever again. 

He stands up again. Puts his hands back inside his pockets.

“Not falling for that one, Harry” he says. 

Harry smirks and sinks back down again. Just the top of his head visible, his bright eyes peering up at Niall over the water.

“I’ll leave you to it so … This album cover re-enactment….” Niall says, shifting on his feet so he’s not so close to the edge. He jerks his thumb back towards the house. “Gonna head.”

When he walks away he hears a loud splash and then the slapping noise of Harry’s wet footsteps crossing the pathway behind him.

“Wait! Niall!”

He turns just as Harry reaches him and collides into him - cold and wet. Niall recoils a pace. 

“Jeez! Harry ...”

“Are you leaving? Are you leaving?” Harry’s eyes are wide under the dripping fringe of hair. “I’m sorry. Don’t go? Please?”

Niall frowns at him, brushing at the wet traces Harry’s stained onto his clothes. 

“What? I’m just going for a shower … what are you… ?”

“Oh,” Harry stops his anxious foot-hopping. “Oh. I thought … I thought you were leaving.”

Niall stares at Harry. He doesn’t get where this sudden anxiety came from.

Harry runs his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face. “Everyone else is gone so I just … I just thought …”

Oh. OK. So that’s it. 

Harry looks up at the sharp bark of wry laughter Niall can’t hold inside.

“What?” he asks, not finishing his sentence.

“So that’s why you invited me?” Niall asks. “Everyone else is gone and you just didn’t want to be alone? So you invite me over for the first time in two years?”

“What? Niall I ...” Harry looks genuinely confused. Niall has to look away so that he can remind himself that Harry’s a good actor, after all.

“It’s fine Harry,” Niall says to the ground. “I’m just going to take that shower now -”

“Niall!” Harry grabs his wrist to pull him back. His fingers are cold. Niall has to consciously resist his panicked urge to wrench himself free.

“Niall, that’s not why I …”

He steps closer to Niall, scanning his face.

“What I meant was ... this is the first chance I got to get away from everyone since we … Niall. I just thought, that, since we’re alone that maybe … maybe we could …”

“Could what?” Niall’s not sure why he’s feeling this anger burning inside him. He struggling with the urge to just grab Harry and, and … he doesn’t know what ...

Harry’s blinking the swimming pool water out of his eyes. “Maybe we could talk or …”

Niall really laughs now. 

A flash of anger passes over Harry’s face. “Why’d you kiss me like that?”

Niall chokes on his laugh mid-breath.

“In London.” Harry says, moving even closer to Niall. There a hint of a tremble in his voice. “You kissed me. Why did you kiss me like that?”

Niall pauses. He can see Harry is visibly shaking now. But it’s the cold isn’t it? From standing here, drenched wet. The air temperature has dropped now the sun's gone down.

“I just …” Niall starts, “I just …”

“You just what?” Harry asks quietly, his eyes fixed on Niall’s lips.

“I just wanted to shut you up,” Niall whispers.

Harry pauses for a second, his eyes shooting up to look directly at Niall. 

They freeze there like that for a second, and then the wild look in Harry’s face shifts, and his right dimple slowly appears.

“What?” he asks, and as he speaks the rest of the smile melts across his face.

Niall can feel his face burning up. Harry’s still holding onto his wrist. He’s still so close that if Niall tips forward even a little their bodies would touch. 

Harry’s smiling at him. In the most annoyingly self-satisfied way.

“Shut up, Harry,” Niall says. 

A full body shiver visibly ripples through Harry. 

“Are you cold?” Niall asks. His voice is gone all raspy. Damnit. 

Harry just shakes his head slowly. He’s standing there, dripping, holding onto Niall and it’s impossible. 

Niall reaches with the hand that Harry’s not gripping, and cups the side of Harry’s face. His skin cool against Niall’s palm.

“You are such a liar,” Niall tells him “You’re freezing.”

Niall strokes away the tendrils of hair that are stuck to Harry’s face and then lets his fingers trail down along Harry’s neck over the goosebumps appearing on his skin. He watches Harry’s lips part slightly, the smile fading slowly away again, his face inches from Nialls.

“Why,” Harry’s whispering, “don’t you shut me up again then?”

And Niall looks at him. Looks at those wide-open, bright eyes staring back at his. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. This is so stupid, such a stupid thing …

He puts his two hands on either side of Harry’s face and kisses him.

Harry exhales in a shudder, and pulls Niall in, his hands roaming up and down Niall’s back. His cold, wet clothes wrap around Niall but Niall quickly feels the heat of Harry’s skin penetrating through.

He runs his hands into Harry’s hair, tightens his grip until he can feel droplets of water squeezing through his fingers, dripping over the back of his hands, down over Harry’s face, onto their tongues as Niall laps into the heat of Harry’s mouth. 

Harry makes a “ummph” noise against Niall’s mouth and pushes into him until Niall has to stagger back a pace. It breaks them apart for a second, just a second, and then Harry’s lips are back on Niall’s, his mouth open and soft and hot. The taste of him sends an electric thrill right through Niall, and his hips jut forward.

Harry moans again, his hand square on the small of Niall’s back and pulls him closer still, shifts his stance so Niall’s rapidly swelling dick is rubbing against his thigh.

And oh fuck. It’s good. It’s so good.

Niall runs his hands down along Harry’s back until his got Harry’s hips inside his grip and he rubs him against him. He feels the hard line of Harry’s erection and and thrusts into it. They both gasp. Niall’s mouth moves involuntarily to bite the edge of Harry’s jaw.

“Oh fuck …” Harry moans against Niall, nuzzling, his lips moving over Niall’s cheek.

“Fuck, let’s get on a bed,” he murmurs.

Let’s fuck on a bed, Niall corrects silently, but can’t answer aloud because he’s got Harry’s face between his hands again and his tongue is sliding back into Harry’s mouth, as his hips continue to rut into Harry’s.

God, he could come. Right here like this. 

Harry, it seems, has other ideas. He wrenches himself away from Niall’s embrace and pulls him by the hand towards the house.

“Come on, come on …”

He races towards the house, tugging Niall along behind him and Niall catches sight of his own erection tenting out his trousers and he grabs at Harry so he can laugh into his back and hide himself in case Maria’s about. This is so teenage. This is so like how they used to be.

They stumble along the corridor, tripping and falling into each other, hands grabbing and tugging, as they make their way along.

Niall’s room is first so they fall through the door. Harry pulls his wet clothes off, letting them land with a splat on the floor.

“Ugh, mess,” Niall tries to scold, his mouth on Harry’s skin. He pushes them over to the bed and they land on the mattress in a tumble.

“Yeah fuck,” Harry pants, “I’m a mess. Mess me up …”

Niall laughs against Harry’s mouth, diving back into him as he writhes beneath him.

“What shite are you saying, Styles?” he manages to murmur.

“Dunno dunno,” Harry rolls them over so Niall’s underneath and he squeezes him inside his arms, “you were supposed to be shutting me up…”

Niall rolls them back, takes Harry’s wrists in his hands and pushes them back into the mattress.

Harry’s panting beneath him, looking wild. So Niall pulls his wrists over his head, grips them in one hand and presses the forefingers of his other hand against Harry’s lips until they part and he sucks them in.

That almost works in shutting him up, except for the moaning, his mouth full and tongue licking against Niall’s fingers.

Niall pauses for a second to look at Harry - all flushed underneath him, a damp sheen on his skin, his mouth working on Niall’s fingers, full lips pursed as Niall slides his fingers in and out. God he wants to put his dick there, into that wet heat of Harry’s mouth. He wants to push his fingers inside Harry too though, wants to feel the tight heat of him clench around him, feel it yield to him, feel the way Harry’s whole body will react when he touches that spot deep inside him.

Fuck. Enough. 

He scrambles away from Harry, ignoring his pathetic little whimper, and digs into his suitcase until he finds his wash-bag, and inside it the condoms and lube he’d packed without letting himself think about.

“Can I fuck you?” he says, bouncing back onto the bed in between Harry’s spread legs.

Harry laughs then, helplessly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Thought the answer to that might have been obvious by now.”

Niall laughs too. He feels light-headed, dizzy, burning up with want. 

He wants Harry so bad he can barely still his shaking hands enough to rip open the condom packet.

Harry’s reached for the lube and is opening himself up while Niall tries to get himself sorted. They’re both breathless and half-laughing and Niall honestly feels like the whole bed is spinning. Or else the world is spinning and the bed is the only steady point in the centre of it all.

As soon as he’s rolled up the condom he looks over at Harry - finds him staring back at Niall’s dick hungrily. He’s on his side, one foot on the mattress with his knee propped up high as he reaches behind to finger himself open. Niall squeezes at his dick, as Harry bites at his bottom lip, breathing heavily.

“You ready yet, love?” 

Harry drops his head, laughing into the bedcovers. “No…” he pants, sounding slightly hysterical, “help me …”

And he gets on his knees and crawls over to where Niall’s kneeling on the bed, dropping his face into Niall’s crotch and nuzzles at his dick, then takes it between his fingers and sucks him in. The sudden heat draws an almighty groan from the depths of Niall...

“Ughgh … Fuck … Harry …”

Harry just wriggles a bit in front of him, pushing his bum in the air, until Niall gets the hint and reaches for the bottle of lube where it’s leaking onto his sheets. He coats his fingers and reaches forward over the length of Harrys back, as Harry slurps him up. He trails a touch down his spine, between Harry’s buttocks until he finds his hole … slides in one, then two fingers.

Harry pulls back from Niall’s dick to gasp but then falls onto it again, sucking hard and deep. Niall drops his head onto Harry’s back, kissing the part of his spine he can reach. He tries to wriggle a third finger in but Harry takes that moment to tighten his grip on Niall’s dick and instead his fingers slip out and he falls onto Harry, pushing him down on his dick.

“This position is ridiculous Harry,” he tells him, scrambling to get upright again as Harry splutters into his thigh. “I can’t even see …”

He takes Harry’s shoulders and pulls him upright. 

He freezes for a second at the sight of Harry’s face - he’s flushed a deep red and tears are spilling down his cheeks.

“Harry?” Niall asks. “Darlin’?”

Harry’s chest is heaving for air. He yanks his hair back and shakes his head. “Just want you … want you so bad …”

Niall cups Harry’s face and kisses him, softly. He feels Harry’s breath shuddering through him, against his lips.Harry kisses him back like he’s dying of thirst.

Niall, as gently as he can, lays Harry on his back on the bed underneath him, kisses him again, strokes his thumbs over Harry’s cheeks until he’s wiped away all the tears.

Harry lies there looking up at him, eyes huge.

“Want you,” Harry whispers to him. “I’m ready. Promise.”

Niall gets off the bed, stands at the end and pulls Harry carefully along the mattress until his bum is at the edge. Harry let his arms trail behind him as he was moved, so now he’s lying, splayed open, with his arms stretched behind him, heels tucked under him, watching Niall carefully. 

Niall can’t help laughing lightly. “Just gonna lie there are ya? Like a princess?”

Harry smiles lazily at him, “Pillow princess,” he says softly.

Niall spills lube onto his fingers, coats the latex over his dick, then slides his wet fingers into Harry again, twisting and scissoring them just a little apart. A tiny frown forms and then fades on Harry’s brow, and after a few moments of breathing deeply, he nods at Niall.

Niall takes his dick into his hand and pushes in slowly. Harry grunts and turns his head on the covers, until Niall’s fully in, then he rolls his hips gently, exhales a deep sigh. He blinks his eyes open and rolls his head back to look up at Niall. 

Niall fucks him gently at first. There’s something about the way Harry’s watching him under half-closed eyelids that makes him want to be careful, makes him want to take his time. Just moments before they were in such a rush to get here, get to this, and now, Niall wants it to matter. 

Harry reaches for him and Niall bends forward taking the kiss Harry’s offering up to him. He feels Harry’s fingers run through the hair on his chest and a sharp pinch when he tweaks one of Niall’s nipples. He’s got a lazy half-smile on his face when Niall gasps, his thrust shuddering into Harry.

“Harry …” Niall mutters, reaching to pull Harry’s hand away. But Harry twists their fingers, until he’s holding Niall’s hand properly and he squeezes, and then with his other hand he reaches for Niall’s face to pull him back for another kiss.

Niall keeps moving into him as their tongues meet. He feels Harry press his face into Niall’s, exhale hot breaths onto his cheek with every thrust into him. 

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice is low, barely more than a moan, “yeah, that’s so good, it’s so good....”

It is. It’s so good.

It hadn’t been like this before.

Before, they were younger, newer to it, still figuring it all out and it was great. They were awkward and messy, all elbows and knees, accidental bruises, and missing the spot. But it was still good, so good, back then. They laughed and kissed and blushed. Well … mostly Harry laughed and then Niall blushed, embarrassed at the intensity of what he was feeling, embarrassed and excited for more of it, dying for it, it felt like.

Harry hadn’t ever seemed like he might die for it, not then.

But today … the way he’s holding onto Niall any way he can - grasping at him, pulling him in, his long legs folded high around Niall’s waist, heels digging into Niall’s hips. It’s like he wants to bury himself in Niall, like he’s desperate for what Niall is giving him.

Niall’s pace has gradually quickened, and he’s snapping his hips into Harry now. He can’t control the noises he’s making, the low grunts that his lungs are pumping out of him. 

“I love you.”

His orgasm is cresting inside him and Harry’s clinging onto him, and when it spills over, crashing over him, he collapses onto Harry, his face pressed into Harry’s neck.

He come round slowly, feeling the light touch of Harry’s fingers trailing up and down his spine. He hears the echo of the words inside his head - I love you. Did he imagine that? Who even said it?

He pulls his head up. He’s still inside Harry. Harry’s arms and legs are still wrapped around him.

Harry’s mouth is on his again before he can take a breath. 

God.

It wasn’t ever like this before.

He breaks away, manages to reach down so he can pull out - Harry whimpers softly as he does. He has to sit up to take off the condom and find somewhere to put it and Harry loosens his grip on Niall’s shoulder to take his dick in his hand. He starts to wank himself.

He’s staring at Niall’s face the whole time, his breath quickening, heaving low grunts from his chest just like Niall had been making a few moments before.

Niall leans back, takes his face in his hands, kisses him, lets him work himself up and just mouths at him - biting his lips, his jaw, wet kisses along the side of his neck. 

He leans far enough down to suck Harry’s right nipple into his mouth and Harry yelps, his hand stuttering where its working.

“Maybe I should take over,” Niall says, chin on Harry’s chest, looking up at him letting his hand drift slowly down over Harry’s stomach.

But Harry’s hand just flies faster and he presses Niall back to his nipple.

“Stay there - do that, do that again,,” he pants and the second Niall gently tips his teeth over Harry’s peaking nipple again, he groans and comes. Niall sucks while the pulses of it rock through Harry. 

Harry’s breathing so hard it sounds like sobbing. So Niall crawls up over him again to kiss his lips, stroke his hair back from his forehead.

“It’s OK, it’s OK,” he whispers to him.

He keeps kissing him. He can’t seem to stop. Peppering him all over - his face, down his neck, the back of his hand. When he reaches his stomach, his lips touch sticky wetness, and he doesn’t even hesitate, he laps at the mess of Harry’s come, swallows it back, continues on his kissing journey - over Harry’s hips, the tops of his thighs.

It’s slow and lazy and sensual. All the earlier urgency ebbing away, leaving instead a sweetness that Niall’s mouth can’t taste enough of.

Harry’s fingers are gently stroking through his hair, but they tighten on his curls when he kisses Harry’s softening dick. Niall likes this dick - he’s just remembered. Harry’s big and thick, and it used to scare him a little bit - back in the day when he wasn’t sure what to do with it. But he’s missed it. He feels bad he hasn’t given it enough attention so far. So he lavishes it now with kisses, little licks, letting the tip drift over his open mouth, his tongue.

Harry’s breathing has gotten heavier again, shaky.

He sits up and grabs at Niall, hauling him back to him, wrapping his arms around him squeezing him into him.

He rolls them over to he’s lying on top of Niall, hugging him tight, pressing his face into his skin. It’s just like when they woke up. When Harry wanted Niall to feel the loving arms of his husband. 

They stay there for a long time, just lying there, half-dozing, lazily caressing each other.

“I love you too,” Harry whispers eventually against the side of Niall’s head.

Niall pulls back and looks into Harry’s face. He knows he’s frowning, can’t make himself stop. Harry’s just staring back at him, the way he has been this whole time - heavy-lidded and solemn.

“Harry …you don’t have to …” he can’t seem to manage to say what he means. 

_You don’t have to say it._

_You don’t have to lie to me._

Which is true?

In the end, Niall’s body makes the decision for him and the kissing starts again. It’s like his mouth has decided to taste every inch of Harry’s skin and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

And Harry’s body seems to decide too - he’s getting hard again by the time Niall’s made it far enough south. This time he doesn’t let Harry pull him away - Niall curls on his side on the bed, takes Harry into his mouth, pulls his lips into a tight circle around that gorgeous dick, bobs up and down until he hears Harry whimpering. 

Harry’s body is firmer than it used to be. A little longer and broader too, maybe. There are new tattoos, nail polish, neatly trimmed public hair. But there’s a comforting familiarity in the sounds Niall’s dragging out of him. Harry’s never really been that loud in bed, but he’s expressive. It’s easy to tell when he’s affected by a particular touch, by a flick of the tongue, the pressure of fingertips digging into muscle. His breath catches, there are low groans, throaty sighs, a wrenched-out, rumbling moan.

Niall listens to it all now, as he fills his mouth with the taste of Harry, grips the base of his dick in one hand, his other circling Harry’s hip, his bum. His jaw starts aching too quickly and there’s couple of times he almost retches because it’s been so long since he’s done this. It’s been girls mostly, since Harry. It’s been fine, good even. Mostly.

But Harry’s dragging his fingertips through Niall’s hair now and whispering things like - oh god ... oh fuck … fuck, fuck, fuck ... yes… - and it’s not fine, not at all. It’s fucking perfect. He loves this. He fucking loves it.

Later, after, they dump the bedcover onto the floor and slide between the clean, cool sheets. Harry wriggles close to Niall and slinks an arm around his waist, presses his lips to Niall’s forehead.

Niall listens as he quickly falls asleep, his breaths deepening to a slow and steady rhythm. He snores lightly, soon after, and Niall finds himself chuckling lightly. The snoring’s annoying; he’ll never sleep, he thinks … and then he’s out.

 

Niall is used to waking in strange situations. But he still jolts upright on the bed next morning when, for the second morning in a row, he blinks his eyes open to find Harry’s on the other side of his pillow, staring at him,

“Fuck!” he pants, hand pressed to his heart.

The room’s a mess - their clothes and the bedcovers in a tangle on the floor, the condom he used just lying there. They haven’t even closed the curtains - the grey morning light filtering weakly in. Anyone could see...

He hears Harry laughing hoarsely behind him. Then he shifts and sits up and lays himself against Niall’s back, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Good morning, dearest husband …”

Something cold sinks inside Niall’s stomach. Are they still playing pretend then? As if he knows, Harry’s hand wraps around him and rest there, warm to his skin, just over that place where the coldness has lodged inside him.

Niall puts his hand over Harry’s and presses it against him, like the pressure might dissolve that feeling inside. Shit. They fucked last night. They actually did that. Harry said that shit about … about … Shit. What’s happening…?

“What timesit?” he manages to croak.

“Why?” Harry’s lips are sliding along Niall’s shoulder. “Got somewhere to be?”

He finally spots a remote control on the bedside locker and reaches for it, flicking on the TV on the opposite wall. He clicks a couple of buttons until Sky News comes on. He’s not entirely sure what time zone his body clock is in, but he’s been travelling so much lately, it’s bound to go some way to explaining the way his heart rate has suddenly picked up and is galloping along, not far from where Harry’s hand is placed.

The hand that’s now drifting over his chest, thumbing his nipple like it’s a guitar string.

“Oh look, May’s announcing something,” Niall says, hitting the volume button, “maybe they’ve sorted the visa thing …”

If that’s the case, then Harry can divorce him. And all this will be done with. They’ll be back to texts every few months. Meet ups limited to funerals. He feels his chest constrict. He’s panicking. It’s stupid. He knows it. But he also knows the signs. Fuck Harry probably knows the signs.

The room is too fucking messy. That’s the problem. 

He can’t seem to manage to pull himself away from the warmth of Harry’s body. 

May is saying something about “constructive progress being made” and about being determined “finding a way forward” but Niall can’t identify anything in what she’s saying that indicates how much longer he’s going to get to stay married to Harry.

Harry, who at this moment, is kissing his neck.

“Aren’t you interested in this shit?” Niall points at the TV with the remote in his hand. “Like, this seems like it should be pertinent to your situation, you know?”

Harry just bites at him.

“Hmmm…” he says eventually, between nibbles, “turn her off, she’s making you grumpy.”

The images switch to shot of various European leaders walking up some steps. 

CRISIS SUMMIT MEETING ENTERS THIRD ROUND, the banner streams across the bottom of the screen. STATUS OF 1.3 MILLION BRITS ABROAD STILL UNRESOLVED … DELAYS AT HEATHROW REDUCED TO 15 HOURS ...

“Oooh,” Harry’s head shoots up from Niall’s shoulder suddenly, “who is that one?”

Niall squints at the screen. The camera is lingering over the faces of the EU leaders as they pose, grim-faced on the steps. He sees immediately which one Harry is looking at.

“I think that’s the Spanish one,” he says, “eh … Sanchez isn’t it?”

“Hmmm... “ Harry starts nibbling again, but with much less focus this time, “he is extremely hot now isn’t he? No wonder they haven’t finished negotiating … Any excuse ...”

Niall twists around to raise an eyebrow at Harry. He catches his eye and then snuffles a laugh into Niall’s shoulder.

Niall feels the panic settle slightly. Harry always makes things better. But a part of his brain is helpfully pointing out that if they weren’t technically married, if none of this Brexit shit was going down, there’d never have been a morning like this between them. Would there?

“Oh, now there’s your guy,” Harry says. Niall loves his morning voice, all deep and hoarse. “He’s not too shabby either, right?”

Niall glances up. The banner headline says “IRISH PM VARADKHAR BLAMED FOR HOLDING FIRM ON BACKSTOP.”

“Yeah baby, I’d hold firm on your backstop any day …” Harry mutters, eyes fixed on the screen.

Niall crumples in laughter. 

“What are you even saying, Harry? Do those words have any actual meaning?”

Harry’s laughing against him now too. He feels the rumble of his laughter against his ribs.

“He’s sexy though,” Harry says. “Very cute.”

“He’s gay,” Niall turns to tell him. “Out. Brought his boyfriend when he met Mike Pence in the Whitehouse. Just to make a point.”

Harry chuckles against him. “Nice one.”

Would Harry? Niall wonders, his heart thumping again. Would Harry ever want to take a boyfriend - a husband - to meet a head of state or his record company boss or … his mum?

He probably would though, Niall concedes to himself almost immediately. If he was serious about it. Maybe more likely than a girlfriend - if experience is anything to go by, the world is much more ready to accept Harry with a boy than with a girl.

Would Niall?

On the screen, Varadkhar is shaking hands with the German Prime Minister. They both turn to the camera, shoulder to shoulder, expressions fixed to portray resolute determination.

Huh. 

The line-up. The thousand-yard stare. The fixed expressions. It’s all very recognisable. Swap out the grey parliament buildings behind them, dump the suits and subtract a few years, and you could have a boyband photoshoot here. Everything’s performance really, isn’t it?

Maybe Niall could go into politics. People like him. Mostly. It’d probably be easier than this. This life. Secret marriages to your friends.

Harry’s body pressed against Niall has been doing things to him. The shakiness he woke up with has been thrumming through his body, and the small bites and soft press of Harry against him has travelled along his nerves, until his dick filled and is now full and hot up against his stomach.

Inconvenient. But it’ll be fine as long as Harry doesn’t notice.

“It’s great they’re working it out,” Harry murmurs into Niall’s ear, making his little situation even worse, “I’m sure they’re all trying really hard.”

Niall rolls his eyes. It must be nice to live in Harry's "can't we all just get along" political outlook.

“Sure, yeah,” Niall says. Harry’s hand is passing over his nipples, down onto his stomach. He’s stroking him distractedly. It’s … distracting …

“Niall …?” Harry is kissing the nape of his neck now. 

“Uh yeah?” Niall manages to respond. He had something to think about, didn’t he? When he woke up this morning? Something important to figure out ...

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot or anything but …”

Niall’s eyes fly open, a flutter of renewed panic beating inside his ribcage. “What?”

“Should I leave you two alone?” 

Niall turns to Harry for èxplanation, and finds him smirking at the screen.

“So … Angela? She doing it for you, huh?”

Harry grabs at Niall’s dick, which is, it is impossible to deny, rock hard.

The German P.M. is making a pronouncement now. Niall’s lost track really. Unless she is going to specifically say something directly like - “Niall, your marriage days are numbered …”

Harry is chuckling into his shoulder again. 

“I love her,” he tells Harry because fuck’im. “I love her and her trouser suits. And I’m not ashamed to say it.”

“Mmmmm, love a good trouser suit,” Harry mumbles into his skin. He’s not released his grip on Niall’s dick, gives it a good tug. Niall gasps. “Tell me more about what you love about her,” and then he keeps stroking Niall.

“Uhhh…” Niall suddenly hasn’t a clue about Angela Merkel. “Uhhh … dunno … uh …”

“Is it really her?” Harry’s hand on him speeds up. “Or just like … politicians in general?”

Niall drops his head back onto Harry’s shoulder. Fuck, he’s hot. Harry shifts until he’s sitting right behind Niall, his legs curled around him. Harry knows exactly how to get him off like this, they used to do this a lot - rushing about, no time, stressed and in need of something to bring a swift release.

“Is it the power, Niall?” Harry asks in his rumbly morning voice, “Is that it? Is it the power invested in them by the democratic process?”

Niall writhes back into Harry. His voice is … too much.

“Or is it really the suits? Do you have a thing for polyester? It’s OK. You can tell me.”

“Harry,” Niall manages to pant, “please shut up.”

Harry laughs against him. He presses his lips to the side of Niall’s face and whispers darkly, “Make me”. 

Niall jerks and comes, spilling over Harry’s fingers as he giggles into Niall’s cheek.

“I have one last thing to say,” Harry says, as Niall whines through the last waves of his orgasm. He bites at Niall’s earlobe and pulls him close. He takes another breath and leans closer to Niall, whispering - “Barrack Obama” 

Niall yelps loudly and his dick splurts one last time.

As Niall catches his breath, he’s aware that Harry’s arm has been wrapped around him again for the whole time, that he’s pulling him in close against him again now. Niall doesn’t know if he’s ever been hugged as much as he has been in the last day or two since he came to visit Harry. 

He’s starting to get used to it and that feels dangerous. 

But maybe … Niall twists his head around and Harry’s lips immediately find his, kissing softly, gently…

Maybe it isn’t dangerous. Maybe this time, it’s going to be easier. They’re both older now. They’ve both lived apart for a while, had other relationships, had a chance to discover who they are outside of that insanity that was the bubble of their lives a few years ago.

They’ve been apart and then Harry came looking for him. 

Harry told him he loved him.

Niall opens his eyes, “Come here, pet.”

Niall twists around and puts his arms around him. Harry melts into him so Niall moves them back to lie on the bed, pulling Harry into him. Harry tucks his head under Niall’s chin, and they just lie there quietly for a while holding onto each other.

“Do you want some coffee?” Harry says eventually.

“Yeah, OK.”

Neither of them move.

“Love you,” Niall whispers then, into the top of Harry’s head. He wonders if Harry can feel the way his heart is pounding.

Harry looks up, examines Niall’s face for a second, then he grins.

Niall feels a bit weak and dizzy, he’d have to admit. He’s never had a difficult saying that to someone, says it all the time to all his mates. But this … with Harry … it took it out of him.

“The coffee would definitely be good, about now.” he adds.

Harry pats his chest, stretches, groans a bit, rolls onto his back. “Ugh, so I’m responsible for making both the orgasms and the coffee happen? Marriage is hard work. It’s true what they say...”

That’s what they say, all right. But this … it all feels so easy. Could it really be this easy?

Maybe they could talk about all this, Niall thinks. Over coffee.

Harry gets up and walks around the room, gathering up their clothes and the rest of the mess. Niall watches him for a while, the long, lean, naked length of him. He can’t seem to stop smiling.

“Nice work, Styles. I’m liking the show.”

Harry looks back at him and grins. 

“Bend … ” he says, putting one hand on his waist, folding down to collect a pair of briefs from the floor, wiggling his bum at Niall, “and … snap!” He straightens upright, blinking seductively over his shoulder.

Niall laughs again. He feels this sudden surge of happiness. God - this is actually nice. This could actually be something … could it?

“Oh shit I think I left my phone outside all night,” Harry mutters, looking around the room distractedly.

He did. Niall remembers. Left it on the rock before jumping into the pool.

“Outside yes …” Niall confirms for him. “And on the way to outside is the kitchen. Which has the coffee in it. So that’s handy.”

Harry’s response is to drop his still-damp briefs onto Niall’s face. 

“Fair point,” Niall calls to him as he leaves the room, still naked because of course Harry doesn’t need to worry about the consequences of housekeeping staff encountering his bare-form majesty, “but also … make me coffee.”

 

 

The coffee pot is on the stovetop when Niall makes it to the kitchen. He showered and dressed, opened the window, made the bed and unpacked his suitcase into the small wardrobe in his room. From outside, he could hear the muffled, far-away sound of Harry’s low voice on the phone, so it clearly survived its outdoor adventure.

Now though, all he can hear is a soft whine and a rhythmic thump thump thump from somewhere in the house. It sparks a quick flash of guilt - he’s skipped a few workouts now. But then again, last night was fairly energetic. He’s probably in calorie deficit - like a good model always should be.

He takes the horrible coffee because Harry made it for him and drifts out to the patio again. It’s a cloudy morning, but the view is still incredible - miles and miles of hills, swarthed in drifts of mist, and a sky that seems higher and vaster than the one he grew up under.

He turns back to the ochre-stone villa. He can see through a long window upstairs - Harry, shirtless, pounding away on the running machine. There’s his husband.

His heart muscles clench tightly. Fuck. Not just his Harry any more. That’s his _husband_.

The panicky swirling inside him starts up again and he reaches for his phone, just to give his brain something else to do. He scrolls through Insta, like a few posts, then sees one Louis has just posted privately - a picture of Freddie playing the tiny guitar Niall bought him. He’s standing in front of a mirror in his PJs, legs apart, looking terribly serious. Niall snorts. 

_Looks like we got ourselves a rocker_ \- he comments.

The facetime jingle rings almost immediately. “Niaallllller!” Louis’ screaming through the screen. “Listen to this dude.”

He turns the phone to face Freddie, who is strumming away with a frown of concentration. “Sloooow hands….” he sings, patting the strings of his little guitar tunelessly, “shoooooow hands….”

Niall laughs.

“Did you teach him that?”

“No way! Been trying to teach him good music, lad. And then this is what he comes back to me with!”

“Fuck off Louis,” Niall laughs at him.

Louis’ face arranges itself into a pantomime of shock, and he glances behind him. “Language please Niall. Little ears around here …”

Niall’s fairly surely that Freddie’s vocabulary has already been compromised, with Louis’ as his father, but raises a hand in apology anyway.

“How are you doing, man?” he asks Louis. He worries about him. He feels guilt like a heavy blanket across his shoulders whenever he thinks of him. He checks in fairly frequently. But they don’t see each other much really. None of them do.

They chat away for a while. Louis’ excited about his new songs, frustrated with his label, annoyed about radio playlists - the usual. He says his family is doing OK … so at least there’s that. Although Freddie refuses to sleep when he comes to stay in Louis’ house, which explains the late night guitar session.

“Where are you anyway, mate?” Louis asks after they’ve been chatting for a while. “Looks like quite the view.”

“Um …yeah …” Niall swallows back down the fluttering sensation that resurfaces in his oesophagus. He holds up the phone to the view. “Tuscany.”

“Ooooh Tuscany? Fancy! La di da…”

“Yeah cos your holidays are to Benidorm. So relatable.”

“Who’re you there with?”

Louis says it casually but Niall thinks he sees something piercing in his eyes. He could lie. Could pick a name from the blue. Say it’s a golf thing. 

“Harry,” Niall says. “He had a few days off and so …

“So…” Louis eyebrows have risen higher on his face. 

Niall sinks slowly onto a rock.

“Didn’t know you two were on such good terms…” Niall hears Louis saying. 

He swings the phone back towards his face. 

“Yeah … well…”

Louis had walked in on Harry and him back in the day, more than once. The first time, they were pressed up against the sweating wall of a dark backstage staircase, hands down the front of each others’ jeans and Louis swung the door open, laughed in a squawking kind of way and disappeared again.

He never said anything to Niall. They did the gig. Pranced and scooted about like eejits as always. The hotel had a private bar on the roof and, later on, everyone was there. By the time Niall arrived, Harry was curled up in a corner, talking with a girl they’d met earlier in the local radio station. Niall probably drank a bit too much beer. 

He thought he saw Louis watching him, a frown on his face. So he’d tried to make things easy, make it the same as always. Some label guy had brought a newly formed girl band to the party, and Niall made an effort with them, getting everyone laughing, dancing. And the next time he looked over to the corner, it was empty. Actually, now that he thinks of it, he might have made a slight disgrace of himself in the end, rolling around on a pool lounger with one of the girls, too drunk to worry about decorum. Louis had to put him to bed that night. Might have dumped a glass of water on his head the next morning too, as far as Niall can remember.

“Having a good time there then? In Tuscany? With Harry?” That piercing sharpness is getting brighter on Louis face. “What are you doing there, Niall?”

The exasperated tone in Louis’ voice isn’t doing much for Niall’s anxiety. But he tries to laugh him off. Except the laugh catches in his throat.

“I really don’t know,” he admits. 

It’s weird. He suddenly really misses Louis. He feels a bit strange, like he’s been emptied out.

Louis stares at him through the screen, looking like he thinks he knows something. Shite. It’s like when your mother’s caught you out after eating all the biscuits. There’s no point lying.

“We got married a few weeks ago,” Niall hears himself say. He can’t believe he just said it.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, OK. Don’t tell me then.”

“So Harry could get an Irish passport,” Niall continues, “Brexit travel problems. You know …”

Louis makes that squawking laugh noise, and then stops laughing as abruptly as he started.

“It’s just a temporary thing,” Niall says. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Wait, what? You’re serious?” Louis’ eyes look about ready to pop out of his skull.

But then there’s a screeching noise, a clattering of something, and Louis disappears, the phone a blur. When the picture comes back, is appears Freddie has inherited his Dad’s temperament as well as his looks, since he’s trying to hammer Louis over the head with his little guitar, laughing maniacally.

Louis eventually manages to wrestle the guitar out of Freddie’s hands and scoop him onto his lap.

“Monster!” he grumbles, kissing him on the top of his head.

“Say congratulations to Niall, Freddie!” Louis smirks into the screen. “Say we’re sorry we missed the big day!”

Freddie doesn’t seem particularly inclined to follow his instructions and wriggles out of Louis’ arms and toddles off somewhere. Louis’ eyes follow him until it seems he’s assured he’s not going to cause any further trouble.

“... but then again,” Louis continues, grinning glintingly at them, “we didn’t exactly get an invite.”

“Well you know how it is …” Niall says eventually, forces a laugh. “Love’s young dream ... rushing to the altar. That’s us.”

Niall chews on his fingernails as Louis just drops his eyes and shakes his head at the ground.

“You’re shagging again, aren’t you?” he says. “And we all know how that’s going to end. It’s not that I don’t care Niall, but I kinda have enough people crying on my shoulder these days."

“Louis …it’s fine,” Niall starts, but Louis waves his hands at him to shut up. 

“Nah. None of my business, is it?”

Freddie runs into the picture again and picks up his guitar by the neck and starts waving it about.

Louis turns to grab it from him, looking tired suddenly.

“Just get it over with before anyone finds out about it. I don’t need the hassle of trying to explain it to journalists.”

“Well, at least it would kill off the Larries,” Niall suggests as brightly as he can manage.

Louis’ face turns to stone and he stares witheringly at Niall. “NOTHING kills off Larries, Niall. Them and cockroaches. Indestructible.”

Niall just laughs. Fucking hell. What made him blurt that out to Louis? He’d just felt this sudden surge of longing or something, almost a tiny bit like loneliness actually. 

Louis scrunches his face up and studies Niall through the screen. “Look, I know you’re both big boys now, and all that. But … sometimes … if both people aren’t on the same page, these kinds of things can get -” 

“Louis. It’s not a big deal.”

“I just think you should be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” Niall says then, feeling a jolt of irritation at Louis’ over-protectiveness, “I won’t get him pregnant.”

“Whoa …”

Louis’ looks like he’s been slapped. 

“Yeah … “ Niall screws up his face at Louis, “You know when you hear yourself say something and…”

Louis just makes a face. “Don’t worry. I’m filing that one away, man. That’s gonna come back to you one day.”

Niall laughs. “Fair enough.”

As Niall says goodbye, getting a wave from Freddie, he hears the growl of a car engine revving up the laneway. 

It comes to a crunching halt on the gravel at the front of the house, and Niall listens as its door opens and slams shut, and quick-paced footsteps march over the path and then race up the steps.

There’s no noise then at all, for a long time, so Niall shakes himself out of his reverie and walks back inside.

The front door is wide open and he can catch faint sounds of a muffled conversation coming from upstairs.

He hesitates. Yes, he’d prefer to keep a low profile, but there is still the slight chance that a psychotic stalker fan has just casually let themselves into Harry’s house and is breaking his ankles with a mallet upstairs while Niall floats around having mild anxiety attacks. On balance, he should probably just pop upstairs and check everything’s OK.

 

It’s Jeff.

Niall recognises his voice just as he pushes open the door to the small gym.

The tempo of that voice is rushed and peppering expletives with abandon, but comes to an abrupt silence as soon as Niall comes in.

Harry is slumped on a weights bench, elbows on his knees while Jeff paces in front of him, brow furrowed, hands flapping.

“Hey ... “ Niall says into the sudden quiet.

No one answers. Harry bends down to pick up the pair of boxing gloves that are at his feet.

“Fucking hell Niall - like - what the actual fuck?!”

Niall takes a step back in shock at Jeff’s outburst. He has whirled around and is stepping forwards towards Niall in a manner which is disconcerting to say the least.

Niall glances at Harry, who is fumbling with his gloves, and then back at Jeff who is still waving his hands about and cursing incoherently.

“I just … I can’t believe this! I can’t believe you’d let this happen. I thought you were Harry’s friend? Like, what’s your fucking game here, Niall? Seriously?”

“Jeff …” Harry mutters at the floor. If it was an effort at making him stop talking at Niall like that, it doesn’t work.

“Like - aren’t you his friend?” Jeff’s asking, a look of incredulous outrage on his face. “Aren’t you?”

Niall can’t seem to make his mouth muscles work and he stares back at Jeff, speechless. 

“Why would you do this to him? I don’t get it!” Jeff yells. He looks genuinely distressed.

Niall feels his cheeks getting horribly hot. Does Jeff know what he did to Harry last night? Is that what he’s mad about? Did Niall do it wrong? Did Harry say something to him? Shit that’s so embarrassing. 

“What are you…” Niall manages to say. It comes out so weakly it’s barely audible. He swallows and tries again. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Jeff blinks rapidly, his face a picture of shocked incomprehension. 

“What’s wrong? What’s WRONG??”

Niall actually has to take a step back now. Jeff’s got a vein standing out at the side of his forehead and it’s alarming.

“What’s wrong,” Jeff continues, “is your backwards little country’s divorce laws! What the fuck, Niall!”

Wait.

A little worming sense of recognition begins to wriggle around inside Niall. Divorce laws … fucking hell.

“Ireland’s not a backwards little country,” Niall tells Jeff, quite firmly. He’s got to get that straight before they go any further. Ireland’s the best little country in the world. Everyone knows that. But … Divorce laws … There’s something about that that is making him squirm...

“Five years?!!!” Jeff shouts back at him. “Ireland makes people wait five years after applying for a divorce before it’s granted??!! You don’t think that’s backwards?”

Oh. 

Oh yeah.

The heat on Niall’s face rises another degree or two. He’d sorta forgotten about that.

Well.

Fuck.

He looks over again at Harry. He’s wriggled his hands into his boxing gloves and is biting at the laces, trying to tighten them with his teeth. His face is crumpled up with the awkward effort of it. He doesn’t look back at Niall.

“I … I ugh …” Niall says. His voice sounds thick and slow. Stupid. He sounds like he’s thick and slow and stupid. “I didn’t know… I um …”

“You didn’t know?” Jeff asks, his eyebrows shooting upwards with the velocity of space-rockets heading for Mars. “How could you not know? Aren’t your parents divorced? Didn’t they have to wait like that?”

Niall’s mouth clamps shut. Maybe they did. Maybe he was too young when all that went on. Maybe conversations on that topic took place behind closed doors after he’d been ordered away to play in the back yard, or sent upstairs to sit in his bedroom with a new comic book that his brother always immediately pulled out of his hands.

Maybe he used to do his best not to listen to the muffled angry words spilling out under shut doors or blurted out during overheard phone conversations.

Maybe he still remembers the cold, lonely feeling of kicking a football against the back wall of that house his Dad moved into, shivering because he’d left his jacket at home where his mother was, too determined to be a good boy for his Da to make a fuss about it.

Maybe the whole thing did drag out for five years. Every few months some new row surfacing - money, where the boys would live, new partners on the scene.

Maybe the last thing he would ever choose to spend time thinking about is divorce in Ireland.

“Maybe,” he says aloud, his voice shaky, “checking out all that legal stuff was your area, Jeff. I haven’t lived in Ireland for nine years. I’m sorry if I’m a little out of touch.”

Ireland’s got gay marriage now. The schools are all state managed now, not by the Church. They’re even allowing abortion now. How was Niall supposed to know that stupid divorce thing was still on the books?

Now Jeff’s mouth has clamped shut. Niall watches the muscles in his jaw working convulsively.

“I …” Jeff says eventually. “I guess I should have …”

He turns back to Hary. Niall watches his shoulders slump down. 

“Harry I …” Jeff starts but Harry spits out a lace and interrupts him.

“It’ll get sorted,” he says calmly, before sticking his tongue out to suck the lace between his teeth again, tilting his head sideways to pull it tight. “You’ll-igure-um’ing-ou’.”

It’s too annoying to keep watching him, so Niall strides forward and pulls Harry’s gloved hand away from his face. Harry chases the lace with his tongue for a second before slumping back with a pout. 

“I was doing it,” he grumbles. 

Niall ignores him and places Harry’s hand against his belly, works his fingers into each section of crossed laces, tugging them tight sequentially.

“Don’t they make these with velcro these days?” he grumbles back at Harry.

He’s conscious of Jeff then, standing at his shoulder. He takes Harry’s other hand and starts working the laces through.

Harry sits up straighter and looks pointedly from one to the other, then grins broadly.

“Yes! Co-operation for a common goal! Beautiful!” He smiles up at them. “Together we are stronger! It’s like I always say.” 

Jeff makes a grunting kind of noise to that, with which Niall can only concur. This seems to be less like co-operation for a common goal and more like everyone putting their immediate focus into helping Harry achieve his.

So, nothing new there. Harry’s probably not even aware that there’s a difference.

When they’ve got Harry’s gloves fixed securely, he stands, taps their shoulders with their spongey softness, and walks over to the punching bag.

He gives it a few jabs before Jeff walks over too, takes it in his hands to stop it swinging.

“So what do we need to do?” Niall asks - because it seems like there was a crisis five minutes ago or did he just imagine that? Has Harry’s fitness routine taken priority now?

“Do you know, Jeff? What’s the next step?”

“Unless I can figure out how to get the marriage annulled, without admitting we committed fraud, you two are stuck with this marriage thing for five years,” Jeff says, “that’s the situation. It’s a matter of waiting it out.”

Jeff leans his cheek into the leather of the punching bag, while Harry gives it a few pummels on the other side. It seems reckless to Niall, but if Jeff feels the need to make this gesture of atonement then who is he to argue?

“You guys are just going to have to ignore it really. Get on with your own lives. The key thing is making sure we’re not in this mess for longer than five years. A judge could turn down the application, at that point, if we aren’t convincing.”

Five years. Niall will be thirty. He always thought thirty would be a good age to get married, and now here he is - planning his divorce instead.

“Apparently, the Irish law,” Jeff gives a disparaging glance in Niall’s direction, “requires that you prove you’ve lived apart for at least four out of the previous five years. So. We’ve got to make sure there’s no questions over that.”

“Yeah. That … that should be OK.” Niall says. “I mean - we have separate addresses and all that. Should be fine.”

Thirty though. Jesus. This morning he was having a minor breakdown about making it through two days with Harry. What’s five years going to do to him? 

“No.” Jeff looks over at Niall. His body jerks with every swing Harry takes at the punching bag but he doesn’t seem to notice. “We can’t just rely on separate houses. I don’t want any questions coming up. Like even this -”

Jeff waves one hand around airily.

“We can’t have this kind of thing. No vacations together. No being seen together. No public interactions at all.”

“Wait,” Harry stands back from the punching bag, panting. “We shouldn’t be in contact at all?? That seems a bit -”

Jeff steps sideways so he can talk to Harry without 80 pounds of swinging leather ricocheting off his head.

“I guess you guys could skype. But let’s just get this done right.” he says. “Why take the chance? It’s just a few years. You guys can just go back to doing your own things. You’re both busy guys, you know? Date! Oh my god you’ll definitely both have to be seen on dates. Sounds fun, yeah?”

Jeff smiles what Niall supposes is an attempt at an encouraging smile.

“Five years,” Harry says slowly. Niall is slightly relieved he’s not the only one with this phrase stuck in repetition inside his brain. “We don’t see each other. We stay completely apart. For five years?”

Harry’s tone is flat, his face neutral.

“Yeah …” Jeff’s hopeful smile fades off his face, “like I said - you could skype? Text? I mean - it’ll be just the same as now? Right? No biggie, right?”

Harry takes a swift jab at the punching bag. And then a few more. He dances in front of it, light on his feet, eyes boring into it like he can burn it down.

Niall watches him for a while, eventually realising he’s waiting for him to say something. But Harry just keeps pummelling, moving back and forth on his toes. He hits so hard he’s knocking the breath out of his own lungs in violent grunts.

Be careful.

Harry and Jeff have been talking, it dawns on Niall. The way Jeff knew where to find Harry when he arrived, through an unlocked front door ... that phone call ... they've already talked about this. Harry's already had his chance to say what he thinks about it to Jeff ...

Niall knows how to be careful. It was something he’d had to learn. If bouncing between two houses in Mullingar as a kid hadn’t taught him the lesson sufficiently, then the industry he’s worked in since he was sixteen certainly did. Niall knows how to take care of himself, knows why he needs to - knows no one else ever really will.

“Sure Jeff, whatever you think is best.” Niall says it. Like he has to. What else can he say?

Harry hits a hard left, right, left.

“Well …” Jeff’s watching Harry carefully too, Niall notices only now. He’s frowning again, but this time it looks more considering than anxious. “Niall, I guess I can get someone to check out some flights for you…?”

“Great, Jeff.” Niall says. “Let me go pack up then and I’ll get out of your hair.”

He hears Harry start punching again as he leaves the room.

 

It doesn’t take Niall long to pull his stuff out of the wardrobe and he’s zipping his bag shut by the time the flight arrangements home ping into his phone.

Right then. It’s fine. He’s all packed and ready to go. No fuss.

Harry might very well be the Amazing Boy Who Always Gets What He Wants, but Niall’s developed some skills in that department too. And what Niall wants right now, more than anything, is to leave with semblance of cool dignity. 

He hears a car rolling over the gravel outside and checks his watch. The car to take him to the airport is early, but he might as well make a start. He can answer fan questions on his insta to kill the time. It’ll take his mind off things.

When Niall steps out onto the flagstones in the cool, dark hallway, he finds Harry standing there in his sweaty gym clothes, a damp lock of hair falling into his eyes. 

Niall takes a breath to speak but Harry cuts him off.

“It’s OK ...” he says quietly. “It’ll be OK.”

Niall releases the breath he’d been holding. For a second he thinks the feeling that floods him is relief. But it’s not. He doesn’t know what it is exactly. But it makes it difficult to look Harry in the eye.

Five years. It’s not as if it’s a lifetime. Unless that lifetime is the life expectancy of a boyband. 

“It’ll go by quickly,” Niall says, his voice sounds distant and echoey in the high ceilinged hallway. “The time, I mean.”

Harry nods and looks at the floor. 

“Keep in touch,” Niall adds then. Fuck he’s a hard bastard, he hadn’t known.

But he’s not, because he’s dropped his bag and is reaching for Harry. His Harry. 

But his Harry dodges him, takes a couple of paces back. He shoots a panicked expression up at Niall, and then a smaller one, a small smile.

“I’m all sweaty,” he says. He makes that small smile again. He almost looks embarrassed - unless you knew he never gets embarrassed. 

He flaps the hem of his shirt out a couple of times. “Sorry.”

And then, unbelievably, he holds out his right hand to Niall.

Niall blinks at it for a second. That’s how this ends? A handshake?

“Good luck with everything,” Harry says then. “We’ll talk soon.” 

And his face … it’s that face Harry uses. Carefully arranged. Set like stone.

Niall takes a grip of Harry’s hand, shakes it firmly. “You too,” he says. But when he looks up he sees Harry wincing. It’s just a flicker of expression that darts across that blank face and quickly disappears again, but it makes Niall look down, look at Harry’s hand inside his.

He pulls Harry’s hand closer, refusing to release it even when he feels Harry try to tug it away. 

Harry’s knuckles are raw. Reddened and bruised. The middle two have split, a crack in the skin, gently seeping blood.

“Harry … what did you do to yourself?”

He wriggles free from Niall’s grip, but Niall catches him again, holds his wrist in both his own hands. 

Niall brings Harry’s hand up to his mouth and kisses it. He kisses over the broken skin, over each of his long fingers, turns it over and presses his lips into the heat of his palm.

“Goodbye Harry,” he says. He touches his cheek into the delicate skin of Harry’s inside wrist.

Then he lets go.


	3. Chapter 3

When Niall gets back to London, the first thing he does is book some studio time. The second thing he does is go on a massive bender with the few remaining members of the LIC that still live in the city. It gets messy and maudlin and stupid and results a three-day hangover and he never actually makes it into the studio at all.

But he does get out to see some great football matches - drink the free beers and roars himself hoarse in the posh seats, which is not the done thing, really. He goes to some gigs, feels the itch to get back to writing but instead somehow finds himself on the golf course, concentrating on reversing the backwards slide his handicap has taken over the last few months.

And all of those things seem to inevitably wind up in a pub or the clubhouse or back in his house with all the lads sprawled over his sofa drinking cans of beer into the early hours. Except, once or twice, it ends up being just one lad - sprawled under him on the sofa, or else on his knees while Niall stares at the ceiling and tries not to feeling like he’s breaking a vow he never made.

He’s busy. He’s keeping busy. It’s what he does.

 

After a couple of weeks, when Niall discovers he can’t actually button his pants closed, and he’s waking at night with a burning oesophagus, he realises he needs to knock it on the head, and he gets back to the gym. It’s not like anyone else is going to do it for him. He's careful. He needs to be. He's worked so hard, there's so much to lose now.

First day back, he falls straight into his usual habit for his warm up - walking on the treadmill with his phone propped onto the panel, creeping on social media. 

It seems Harry’s back in L.A. There are fan pics of him out for dinner with friends. He looks fine. Well. Normal. For Harry. He’s in those mismatched baggy clothes he always wears when he’s off duty - like someone’s let him play dress up in his grandparents wardrobe. And he’s kinda wrung out looking and straggly-haired, maybe. But then, he always does tend to get a bit sloppy when he’s writing. So he must be writing. Good for him.

Niall will definitely add Harry’s new single to his next public Spotify playlist. That’s the kind of person he is. Not bitter, like. The bigger person, as it were.

Niall makes another studio booking, actually shows up this time. Ends up playing you-tube videos about guitar tuning for 3 hours before calling it a day.

The next time he goes to the gym, he props his phone on the panel as usual, sets the pace on his machine, glances at the screen and what he sees makes him promptly falls off.

By the time he’s waved off the help of the gym staff, got himself home and stuck an ice-pack on his bruised shin, he has managed to steel himself to take another look at the photo he saw online.

 _I nostri nuovi amici_ \- the caption reads. Niall sticks it into google translate - “our new friends”.

It’s Harry and him, in the cherry-red Ferrari, driving down the narrow, paved street of that Italian town. 

The girls they met clearly didn’t stick to the “no photo” rules, the little sneaks. 

But Niall’s sort of glad, even though it hurts like hell to see that picture - because he and Harry look so good. They look young and beautiful and happy, both of them grinning broadly, hair blown back by the wind in their shiny red sports car. The both look really, really fucking happy.

Niall feels a bit sick. He doesn’t look scared in that photo. No one would ever know just how scared he was for those few days. But ... maybe he _was happy_ too. Maybe he’s always happy with Harry. Maybe he’s remembering it wrong.

He saves the photo, switches off the phone screen, and ups his pace. 

Maybe he needs to get back to work.

 

It took months and months, and a couple of reluctantly-attended therapy sessions back in L.A., but gradually Niall stopped being busy. 

Instead he’s being focused. For some reason, maybe it's the Californian sunshine, the songs he’s been reaching for all year are now dancing within his grasp. The previously darkened corners of his mind now spark with lyrics, chord progressions, echo with new note sequences.

It feels like a gift - being back to this. And he wants to treat it with respect. So a new routine has taken hold - long days in the studio, a quick work-out on the way home, a quiet, solo meal from the delivery service, early nights, and then back to work in the morning.

He gives himself a few hours off every now and then - ‘cos he’s not a dull boy - a couple of pints in Mully’s bar, a round of golf, a night of TV.

But all the while, the music edges at his consciousness, sometimes bittersweet, sometimes lush and daring. And it’s all his. And he's being careful with it.

 

He’s laid down the final vocals for his latest idea earlier, and the whole day was _a lot_ so he doesn’t reckon he has it in him to be a model tonight. He’s been invited to James’ very special live broadcast of the 750th episode of the Late Late Show, but he calls up Tara to ask her to arrange a gift pack of bubbly and sends his good wishes instead. 

It was only a back-stage viewing party-thing anyway. Might as well do that in the comfort of his own home. 

And shit this is how middle-age starts, isn’t it?

He gets home, takes a shower, flops onto his sofa barechested and with a bottle of icy-beer in hand.

Fuck it. He’s going to win at middle-age. He was _born_ to be middle-aged.

He clicks on the TV screen, and the musical show opener is underway - James is doing a routine with a seriously impressive dancing dog. Niall laughs, swigs at the beer, waits for the inevitable disaster to unfold. 

And yep, now there’s a whole team of dancing dogs on stage, and clearly they are expecting someone with a little more skill than James to direct proceedings but he’s just crawling around on all fours, letting them jump over him and lick his face, and it all quickly descends into chaos. 

The audience loves it - screaming and cheering. Which seems a little much for some of the dogs, and the camera closes in on a few little “accidents” that were deposited around the stage.

Really, Ben? Niall snorts to himself. He’s going to have a word about production values vis a vis basic hygiene next time he sees him.

But the show is entertaining. James is his typical frantic, over-emphatic self, if slightly sweatier than normal. The running gag is that his planned interviews with various comedians all turn into job-pitches as they point out his failings and outline how they’d do the job better. James is acting like he wasn't in on the joke - all shocked and outraged. As blooper-reel shows go, it’s working well.

There’s also the parade of extremely A-list guests swinging in and out, performing menial tasks like bringing coffee or reapplying James’ make-up, disappearing as quickly as they appeared, grinning at the audience howls. Maybe Niall would have been roped into that, had he turned up.

He takes a sip of beer and settles further into his sofa cushions, sighs contentedly. He’ll leave them to it. Wouldn’t be fair to outshine anyone, now would it?

“All right, all right,” James says while Jennifer Lopez disappears stage-left, pushing her 1970s hostess trolly, “so tonight we thought we’d try introducing a new audience participation segment to the show!”

The crowd cheers, and James giggles as he explains the new game - “Cheese or Cracker”. The audience has to pick whether James will do an in-character performance of one of two songs - either “cheese” or a “cracker". Tonight's cheese song is "My Heart Will Go On", and the cracker is ... Niall sits up straight again when James announces the name of Harry’s last single.

Little plates of cheese and crackers are being distributed to the audience which James says they’ll have to use to vote for their choice - Niall isn’t sure of the logistics of all this, but then - while the audience is busily grabbing at plates, James winks at the camera, and the shot cuts to backstage where actual Celine Dion is standing there, grimacing and rounding fists with actual Harry Styles.

Oh.

Niall’s fingers tighten involuntarily around his beer bottle.

Harry’s single had charted OK, if not spectacularly, dropped again pretty quickly after the first week despite all his promotional efforts. It’s a good song though. Niall thought so. A good rock song, punchy and tight. It _was_ a cracker. 

He could have told him to his face if he went to the show tonight.

He’s not sure how he feels about that.

The audience haven’t been told about who is standing backstage, and the shot pans back to where it’s all going a little bit nuts now with people running up to a long table to deposit their choice of either cheese - in front of a picture of Celine or crackers - in front of a picture of Harry. 

It’s not exactly eco-friendly, all this waste-food, Niall decides. He’ll add it to his list to discuss with Ben.

Niall’s picking at the label on his beer bottle when James’ exclamation draws his attention back to the TV.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” James is saying, cracking up in laughter, “now hold on a second. Who did that?”

He’s pointing at the pile of crackers, on top of which someone’s dumped a plastic dog turd. At least Niall hopes it’s a plastic one. He guesses they must have used them for the earlier segment? That makes more sense than allowing the dogs to actually poop where A-lister have to dwell.

James seems to have identified the culprit - a beardy hipster kind of guy in the middle of the audience is laughing and holding his hands up.

“What??” James is saying, still giggling, “what on earth …??”

There’s no mike on the guy but the camera shot is clear enough for Niall to read his lips - “You need a pile of shit option.”

Niall’s mouth drops open, but James doesn’t seem to get it. He’s still laughing and talking to this guy - but fuck, this is the problem with live shows - it’s all gone a bit haywire. The camera hasn’t cut from the guy, and he keeps saying “it’s shit, it’s a shit song”, everyone around him laughing along, and when James eventually announces it’s time to count the votes, it doesn’t get much better - it’s all cheese, a mountain of it stacked beside the turd-topped crackers.

Well it's Celine fucking Dion ... of course, she won. What else could have happened?

Niall realises only then that he’s on his feet, and he’s breathing hard. On the TV in front of him, the crowd is going ape-shit as Celine strolls on stage, waving. In the background, Niall can see Harry standing in the wings, clapping, eyes looking upwards at the backstage screen. Then James says it’s time for a commercial break but he’ll be performing live with Celine right after, _so don't go anywhere_ …

Niall blinks in shock as the adverts flicker.

Like … that was horrible. That was really fucking horrible..

He takes a swig of beer, coughing when he forgets to do the swallowing part.

Fuck that guy.

He paces the floor a bit.

Also - fuck Ben and James. Like, really. What were they thinking?

Niall sets his jaw. Fuck everything. He picks up his phone in his shaking hand, calls a car.

 

The green room is crowded by the time he gets to the studio for the after-show party - music is playing loudly, there are people dancing in the crush, singing, champagne corks popping… it’s easy for Niall to slip quietly into the jam.

He can’t see any sign of James or Ben just now - which is just as well. But he sees Harry pretty quickly. He’s standing off to the side, laughing with a couple of the production crew. He looks casual, even though he's still dressed up in a big-bowed, silky shirt. He seems relaxed.

Niall watches from just inside the door. Various people are hovering around, close to Harry, waiting to say hi. 

One of them is that asshole from the crowd earlier. 

Niall starts to make his way over.

But before he can get there, he sees that Harry’s turned and that the guy has approached him. Harry nods at the guy, and next thing, they’re standing side-by-side, peering into the guy’s phone camera. Harry smiles, makes a peace sign, the camera flashes, then they nod at each other again and the guys slips away, grinning at his phone.

After a split-second's hesitation, Niall keeps weaving his way over. He’s got a slightly sick feeling in his stomach.

Harry’s turned again and has his back to the room by the time Niall makes it to stand at Harry’s elbow, unnoticed. He reaches to touch Harry’s back softly.

“Hey,” he says, when Harry jumps and whirls around.

Harry just blinks at him blankly, while the production guys grin and say their hellos to Niall. He’s met them a few times - nice kids. But he kinda wants them to disappear now. 

One of them dashes off to get him a drink, and Niall takes the opportunity to lean into Harry, and say quietly in his ear, “Can we go somewhere?”

Harry smiles at Niall. It looks horribly like the same smile he’d arranged for beardy dick-head.

“We already are somewhere Niall,” he says, and looks away again. He’s drinking water, it looks like. He looks away to fidget with his phone in his left hand.

Niall lets his hand run down Harry’s spine until it’s pressed firmly into the small of his back. 

He steps closer, “I want to talk with you.”

He feels Harry’s whole body stiffening, then shift as Harry releases a restrained sigh. He nods, not meeting Niall’s eyes, mutters “second door on the right,” and edges away through the crowd.

 

They must be short of dressing room space - what with all the big names present - because the room Harry had directed Niall to seems to be some kind of prop storage area. There are rows of shelves and cabinets, weird shapes and shadows in the poor lighting. Niall slips inside and shuts the door behind him.

Harry’s sitting on a box, long legs sprawled out in front of him. His undone the bow of his shirt, loosened the top buttons. He’s still thumbing at his phone when Niall comes in, but at least he shoots him a direct look in the face, this time.

“Figured no one would see us here,” Harry says, in a monotone. Then he pulls himself up. “Ugh, I mean, hi of course, how are you?” 

Fucking hell, Niall’s annoyed.

“I’m annoyed, Harry, to be honest,” Niall says. Because he is.

Harry jerks a bit at that. His eyes flicker a bit wider, but then he shuts down again, his expression returning to blankness.

Niall gets it. Emoting is hard, as his therapist says. He sometimes suggests they should explore that - which has always been Niall's cue to drop the sessions. Niall has held firm on his original therapy objective - to learn to stop freaking out about shite, like, _all the time_. (Or, alternatively, "develop some healthy emotional management techniques" as Dr Dan prefers to put it). Keeping things from unravelling, tidied away in their proper boxes - that's all Niall needed to know. But … there's something a little untamed nudging at him right now. 

“That was really shitty, tonight, Harry. Are you OK?”

Harry laughs, “Course.”

He looks away for a second, and then meets Niall’s eyes again. “It was a good show, wasn’t it? Lots of good jokes.”

Niall sighs and moves in from where he’s been hesitating inside the door. He sits down beside Harry on the box, careful not to sit too close.

“Fucking joke all right,” Niall mutters, looking at the floor. 

Harry laughs loudly then. It makes Niall jump. Then blush. 

“Don’t laugh at me, Harry,” he says quietly. “I’m mad. They were really mean to you.”

Harry goes quiet again then, suddenly.

Niall risks it - looks at Harry.

Harry doesn’t look away this time, “It was nothing, Niall, it was a game …”

Niall flinches at the directness of Harry’s gaze. So calm and expressionless. Ok then. 

Harry laughs again, “Like, thanks for the outrage on my behalf and everything, but I’m a big boy now. I can take a joke. It was just a joke.”

Niall nods, bites his lip. Fuck it - he does what he’s felt like doing since he got here - wraps an arm around Harry, squeezes his hand around the base of his neck.

Harry’s eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

Niall can’t keep meeting that dead-eyed look any more and he snaps his face away and looks at the opposite wall without moving his arm away. He swallows tightly. Ah shite, this could be going better.

He squeezes Harry’s neck again and then rubs small, slow circles around Harry’s back. He’s all hunched up and tense - which is another thing. This posture issue really needs to be dealt with.

“Niall …” Harry says again, his voice lower now. Niall can feel Harry is still staring at him. He can’t make himself turn to face him though. 

"Fuck that guy..." he mutters at the wall instead.

“Niall … ”

Now Harry’s voice has dropped to barely more than a murmur. Niall feels himself relax, just a little.

“Sssh,” he says, “I’m comforting you.”

He chances it - looks back at Harry.

His expression has changed. He looks a little tired now, but now there’s a softness too. A trace of the beginnings of a smile. God, Niall really wants to kiss him.

Harry shakes his head slowly. “You’re doing what?”

Niall nods encouragingly at Harry. This is better. He can help him understand. 

“I’m comforting you,” he says. “Like we promised in the vows. I promised I’ll always love you and comfort you … so I’m comforting you …”

Harry snorts an actual laugh now. 

“Thank you,” he says. He’s shaking his head. “It wasn’t real though, remember?”

“I remember,” Niall says quietly. He edges just a little closer to Harry, still moving his hand up and down his back. “I remember exactly what we promised.”

Harry’s face is close to his now, his eyes keep dropping to look at Niall’s lips and then back up to search his eyes.

He takes a breath, like he’s going to speak, but then he bites at his bottom lip instead.

“I’m really not bothered,” he says, “about all that tonight. Can't win 'em all.”

Niall nods at him, “OK.” 

His hand has come to a rest at the base of Harry’s spine. Harry, more than anyone he has ever met, really wants to win 'em all. 

“But …” Now Niall’s biting on his own lip. God he feels really hot. “But if you were bothered, then, I’d comfort you…”

Harry’s eyelids have dropped. “How?” he asks, his voice all raspy. “How would you comfort me?”

 _Blowjobs of course!_ Niall’s mind helpfully provides. Niall’s mind allows itself to be led astray by other parts of his anatomy at times. Distracting. Inappropriate. Also, a bit funny haha. Stupid brain. He tries to fight the smile that’s suddenly straining to make its way onto his face.

Harry’s watching him too closely to miss it.

“What?” he asks. He laughs then, it splutters out of him like he had tried to hold it back too. Like he knows the filthy route Niall’s thoughts have deviated to.

Niall shakes his head, then he’s laughing with him, leaning his head onto Harry’s shoulder.

Harry reaches his hand over to take hold of Niall’s chin, and he tilts his face up, "Fuck that guy," he whispers, then he kisses him.

 

So that’s why Niall kneeling between Harry’s spread legs, sucking on his thick cock, two minutes later.

He feels a twinge in his knee, and knows he’s going to pay for this later, but it would be rude to stop now and his mother raised him better than that.

He dips back to take a breath, and drags Harry’s trousers open wider, tugs his underwear lower under his junk. Thank god the days of skinny jeans have come to an end. This is much more convenient.

He darts a quick look up at Harry, and sees Harry’s just watching him, running his fingers through Niall’s curls, a helpless look on his face. 

Niall grins, leans in again, lapping wetly now around Harry’s balls, which makes Harry’s grunt and yank harder at Niall’s hair. He takes Harry’s dick deep into his mouth, and works him up, listening carefully to the noises he manages to draw from him.

God, he loves the taste of him, the familiar essence of him. He loves the width of him - the tight stretch of his own lips, the weight against his tongue, the way it's all just on the cusp of too much. He loves the sounds they're making, the heat that's blazing on his own cheeks, the pounding inside his chest. 

Harry’s mother raised him right too, and he politely warns Niall - “I’m gonna come, I’m coming,” - just in time, but Niall just swallows it down. He’d swallow Harry whole if he could. He wants him so much. He wants so much of him.

He’s still on the floor, panting against Harry’s thigh when that wanting ebbs slightly, and he remembers where he is, how they are.

Harry gently pushes him up from his leg, and slides off the box he’s been sitting on all this time, joins Niall on the floor.

He buttons up and turns to look at Niall, leans in, kisses his roasting face.

“I can …” Harry leans his forehead against Niall’s, his hand drifts over to his crotch, but Niall just takes it in his instead.

“It’s OK,” he tells Harry, his face getting even hotter. His underpants are in a problematic state right now, to be honest. “Sorta too late...”

Harry grins at Niall, all smug like he’s proud of him.

Niall shrugs, “It’s not my fault you always bring out the horny teenager in me, Styles.”

The grin slowly fades from Harry’s face at that.

He looks away.

“Yeah…” he says. He sighs shortly, “so it seems.” Then he pulls himself away from how he’s been leaning against Niall, sits up straight.

“I think …” Harry is dragging his fingers through his hair, trying to settle in into place or something, which is unnecessary as far as Niall can see, since there didn’t seem to be any particular arrangement to return it to, in the first place. “I think there’s a back entrance if you keep going along the corridor. So, I can go back to the party if you want to leave that way?”

Niall straightens up too.

“I mean,” Harry says, looking at Niall again, his face unreadable, like before, “that’s what was agreed yeah? What you want? That we aren’t seen together?”

“We already …” Niall has to cough to make his voice work right. Blowjobs aren’t good for the vocal chords. Neither is crushing rejection. “People probably already saw us.”

Harry gets up, flaps his hands at the seat of his trousers to shake of the dust. Niall feels it prickling against his face as it falls.

“Well, it was a busy room ... seems like ... a good place to hide in plain sight ...? So, I mean ... if you wanted to party tonight? Catch up with everyone? If that's why you - I mean ... fire away. Go and party like it's 1999. I’m kinda done though.”

“No, no, I’ll go out back,” Niall says quietly. His throat hurts. He's so stupid. 

“OK then,” Harry looks down at him. He’s frowning now, not even attempting to mask it. “Well …”

“See you in four and half years then?” Niall suggests, his voice still weak and crackling, “Or do we have to reset the clock to the start again now?”

Harry looks away, his face crumpling.

Niall looks away too. 

Everything’s quiet for a few minutes. Then the door bangs shut.

 

 

Two months later Niall gets a call from Jeff.

“Niall, so, we may have a solution.”

 

It turns out, that the priest, unsurprisingly, had recently received a diagnosis that made it undeniable that the poor man was unfit to practice his ministry. Niall wonders briefly who pushed for the diagnosis to come about but doesn’t ask.

“So, it looks like they’ve appointed a bishop to review Father Richard’s recent activities, and he would prefer if the first recorded case of a Catholic gay wedding was quietly removed from his diocese's record books," Jeff tells Niall, “He’s asked if you guys would go along with him annulling the whole thing. He’s been quite nice about it, considering. Offered to pay for the wedding licence application for your civil ceremony instead. We’re pretending to be too offended by the homophobia to accept. So. Looks like you’ll soon be a free man again.”

“That’s great, Jeff,” Niall says dully, unable to fake the enthusiasm he’s no doubt supposed to be expressing right now, “thanks for that.”

 

He hangs up the phone.

Then he gets busy.  
.

 

“And then I was like, are ya jokin’ me? Ya want me to sign where? I’ll tell ya Niall, I’m all for doing me bit o’ promo, but there’s limits man! There’s, like, common decency! Surely!”

Niall laughs. It’s been a while since someone asked him to write his name on a body part. He might even miss it a bit, except for that one particular armpit that still haunts his nightmares.

“But,” Lewis grins at Niall, “didn’t want to let the wee girley down either, like? Had to squeeze into the loo stall with her, but got the job done in the end. Anything to keep the punters happy, like.”

Niall splutters into his beer. He’s not sure what number he’s on anymore. The VIP area of the Club they’re in has emptied out a bit. It’s getting really late.

“I don’t want to know any more,” Niall laughs at him. “I’m not in the headspace for having to make a legal deposition, right now. Just putting that out there in advance.”

Lewis reaches for his own beer and takes a swig. 

“Yeah, mate, I’ve been meaning to ask … you alright, like? Been worrying.”

Niall feels the smile slip slowly from his face. With gargantuan effort he summons it back again, stretching his cheek muscles out in a way that feels really odd.

“Yeah, course,” he says, “why wouldn’t I be?”

Lewis rolls his eyes theatrically. 

“Oh I dunno!!” He spreads his arms out wide, beer splashing out from the top of the bottle in his hand. “Just that song demo making me put me head in the oven, like. But that was before I remembered the oven’s electric and all I was doing was roasting my own eyebrows off.”

Niall frowns. “Did you not like it? The song?”

“Me?!” Lewis slams a hand over his heart now. “Did I not like the most yearning song of heartbreak, pain and tragedy ever recorded? Right up my alley that. Nah. I loved it mate. It’s fucking goregous. You know that.”

Niall feels his heart-rate subside a bit. He hasn’t felt the same way about a song since he wrote Flicker - that protectiveness over it. Like it’s his child. He’s been careful about who he’s letting hear it. He’s still not sure if he’ll put it on the album. Not sure if he’d ever be able to sing it live without choking up. He’d been a mess in the studio.

“But, pal,” Lewis is saying, leaning into him now. “There were a lot of feelings there, like. A lot. You alright now? Got it all out now? Yeah? Spewed it all up, like, till there’s nothing left?”

Niall picks at the edge of the beer bottle label, then flattens it out again.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m grand.”

Lewis clinks his beer bottle into Niall’s. “Fuckin’ legend.”

He stands up, dangerously unsteadily, and raises his bottle to the ceiling. “Here’s to fuckin’ heartbreak! Here’s to getting your heart ripped out of your chest, just, like, ripped out by her fingernails and flung, like dripping blood all over the gaff, just flung at her feet, just so she can stomp her size fives all over it, mash it into the ground, like it’s a fuckin’ hamburger. A fuckin’ hamburger some fuckin’ seagull is going to swoop down onto, to peck to bits in the morning. Here’s to fuckin’ peckey little sea-shites!”

Niall cackles up at him, “Lewis…” 

Lewis has jumped up onto the seat now, proclaiming his toast at the bouncer who is moving in from the roped staircase, and dancing away from Niall’s outstretched hand by bouncing over the cushions.

“Lewis, will ya get down here,” Niall manages to drag him back to sit beside him, waving off the bouncer with a “I’ll sort it” gesture.

“Fuckin’ heartbreak” Lewis says to Niall’s shoulder, which he’s collapsed against. He holds up his beer bottle again, and Niall clinks it with his own.

“Fuckin’ heartbreak,” he agrees.

“But still,” Lewis sits up straight again, his pale face split into a huge smile “fuckin’ makes ya feel alive though, doesn’t it?”

Niall snorts, takes a gulp of beer. “Yeah. And it’s good for the songs.”

Lewis stretches his legs out in front of him and slumps heavily sideways into Niall. “Thank you for the music, the songs we’re singing ..” he starts to sing. Then he burps right into Niall’s ear and whines about Niall elbowing him in the ribs in response.

“See … do ya know why I reckon’ we’re the bravest muthafuckas round these here parts,” Lewis says, when he’s settled himself back down again, “the thing is.. The thing that’s the same about this music business and the heartbreak business… Is - you’ve got to go all in, now don’t ya?”

“Yes,” Niall says. He’s sleepy. He might go now. In a second. He’ll sleep now, probably. He hasn’t been lately. Not since L.A. really. And that’s been months. But tonight, he thinks he’ll sleep.

“You’ve got to go all in,” Lewis is saying, “no halfway measures. That’s right isn’t it, Niall, my pal?”

“Yes, yes definitely,” Niall agrees. “Sorry, what?”

Lewis sits up again, slaps a heavy hand on Niall’s shoulder, leans into his face. “What we do!” He declares. “What we do is all .. like, fuckin’ scarey. But we do it anyway, don’t we? All in! No hedging. No back-up plans. No safety nets.

“That’s why we get our hearts broken. It’s cause we’re real men.”

Lewis nods to himself and slugs at his beer again.

Niall feels his face frowning. Unco-operative.

“Wait .. I do though.” Niall says. Yes, yes. He’s decided. That’s right.

Lewis turns, looking puzzled.

“You do what?”

“I do that,” Niall rotates a finger into the air, so he can wind back the conversation for Lewis. He jabs at an invisible play button,and then speaks along to the replay “No hedging. No back-up plans. No safety nets.”

Lewis smiles and nods at him encouragingly.

“That’s not me,” Niall pats his chest, “I have back-up plans. Do a bit of collaborating. Bit of media. I have a golf company.”

 _And I’m a model_ , he adds silently. He doesn’t want to say it aloud though, in case it makes Lewis feel bad.

“One of my friends,” Niall leans into Lewis in further explanation, “he always tells me - be careful. You know? Some people just have to be careful.”

Lewis sits up straighter. “No! Niall! No way, man. Like. No fucking way man!”

Niall tries to level Lewis in the eye. “Whassa problem?”

“So, how do you, like, live with passion man? How declare to the universe what it is you demand from it?”

Niall thinks about this for a moment. “Sometimes I tweet. Like “hope it works out. Or “mon Derby’. Like that..” 

Lewis nods consideringly. “Fair, fair.”

He slips an arm around Niall’s shoulder and drags him in for a one-sided hug, mashing their faces together. Niall lets himself fall against him - Lewis’ cheek is soft and squishy against Niall’s. Feels nice. No one has cuddled him for ages now, it feels like. Sex doesn’t count. He misses a proper little snuggle. People should be hugged. It should be a human right.

“Doesn’t work for falling in love though, does it?” Lewis says, his voice reverberates against Niall’s skull because of how close they are, “In my vast, and I mean, _massive_ , experience of love aka heartbreak. You just have to go for it don’tcha? Jump off the cliff and go splat.”

Niall thinks about it. 

“Like - your friend, the “be careful” one,” Lewis is rewinding the conversation now, his finger pressing invisible buttons in the air. “How’s all that work out for him? The carefulness?”

Niall starts to laugh. Like, really laugh. He bends forwards over his knees and laughs and laughs, until he’s gasping for air and his stomach muscles are clenching so tightly he thinks he might puke.

Willie is suddenly back at his elbow - he’d drifted off somewhere a while ago. 

“Right Nialler - ‘bout time we got you home, I think.”

Niall still can’t stop laughing. He laughs all the way out the club, the taxi journey home, right until Willie deposits him onto his mattress.

“Stay there,” Willie directs him. “I’m coming back with water - I can’t take another day of you moaning about your hangover, so you'll drink it and behave.”

Niall pulls out his phone as soon as he disappears.

Louis sounds a bit cranky which isn’t something Niall intends to dwell on at present. He has a pressing matter to discuss with him instead.

“Louis, shuttup for a sec,” he says over Louis’ continued whining about what time it is, “just have a question for ya, bro.”

“Niall, swear to god this better be important …”

“Yeah, yeah, no Louis, this is just something quick. And important,” Niall stares up at the ceiling which is spinning round and round and round. He better make this quick because that’s not a good sign. “When you said before, be careful, you didn’t really mean that, did ya?”

Louis suddenly goes quiet on the phone.

Niall pulls it away from his face to look to see if they’re still connected, but the background spinning of the room is making it hard to concentrate, so he puts it back to his face again.

“Hello?”

He hears Louis take a sharp breath. “Niall, what have you done to Harry now?”

Niall blinks in surprise. The spinning room comes to a sudden halt.

“What?”

“Niall, please don’t tell me you’ve messed him around again. ”

“Me?!” Niall stands now and gestures wildly at himself. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, has to admit it looks ridiculous and sits back down again. “What??! I don’t mess! What?”

“I told you, Niall,” Louis’ voice has softened, which somehow brings Niall to his feet again. “It’s not fair to keep picking him up and dropping him like you do. God, it’s hard to watch, Niall. He’s been bonkers for you for years and you just keep stringing him along.”

Niall feels like someone’s just dumped a bucket of cold water over him. Which at least is helping him feel more sober. He shakes his head slowly. “Louis …”

But Louis doesn’t give him a chance to tell him how wrong he is. He just keeps talking.

“One day, he’ll just have had enough. Take it from me. Eleanor was done with me, really. All the stupid shit I did. And if Mum hadn’t … well, I just got a last chance and … Just... Niall. You really have to be careful with him. He’s an utter pain in the arse, agreed. How anyone can stick his attention-craving, skinny-arse for more than 20 minutes is a mystery to me. But, honestly. He’s my bro. You both are. And I'm sorry but ... you just really need to be more careful..”

Niall can only open and shut his mouth a few times, wordlessly.

“OK,” he manages to whimper, eventually. “OK, then. Thank you for that. Night night, then.”

“Niall, I …”

“Bye,” Niall cuts Louis off before he can say anything else. He feels a bit shaky. 

What the fuck was that.

He’s still staring at his phone when Willie comes back with a pint glass of water for him.

“Willie,” he asks, not too proud of the squeakiness of his voice but he’s getting it out there, so that’s at least something, “I don’t mess people around, do I?”

Willie puts the water on his bedside locker, then comes over and ruffles his hair. “Nah, Nialler. You’re a good bloke. Don’t drink and think. Have a kip, it’ll all be better in the morning.”

“Right so,” Niall says, not moving because he seems to have lost all motor function suddenly. “Just a bit worried there ‘cos Louis said … he said something about Harry.”

“Oh! Harry!” Willie laughs, as he heads for the door. “Yeah, that poor fella. Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen. Jesus, can’t believe he hasn’t kicked your arse into touch by now. Mind you, he always seemed kinda into it, poor fucker!”

Niall hears him chuckling as he meanders down the hallway to his own room.

He slowly gets undressed and crawls into bed. But he doesn’t fall asleep. Didn’t really expect to, in the end.

 

Niall pushes the doorbell and waits.

He feels like he should be nervous but exhaustion seems to be over-riding it. Last week, he got a little bit hooked into all the fuss online about the Gucci Show, staying up later as more pictures and clips emerged into the late night hours. Then someone posted that video of Harry and Stevie singing “Stop Dragging My Heart Around” and he got stuck there with the replay button, for hours every night ever since.

It would appear he has turned into someone he’d rather not be.

He’s dealing with it.

The door buzzes open and he steps into the hall. It’s all quiet and empty now, in contrast to the last time he was here. He wanders in a little and then comes to a hesitating stop, wondering where he should go.

Then Harry’s head pops out from a doorway. He looks like he’s trying to keep his face blank, but in the end he just sighs, and smiles, a little sadly, at Niall.

“Heeey Niall.” 

And then it seems the same as always - that sweet little grin. Something so familiar that it immediately sets something at peace inside Niall. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s been afraid of.

“Hiya Harry,” he says, softly, feels himself smiling softly back.

“Jeff’s not here yet, sorry,” Harry says. He comes out into the hallway now. And he’s wearing … something that apparently issues a sonic boom because Niall’s ears are suddenly ringing and his chest feels like a sledgehammer has thumped against his solar plexus. 

Harry’s top is a delicate, black gauze thing, round necked and completely see-through, apart from the arms that are velvety and patterned with criss-crossing lines of sequins.Every tattoo, line of muscle, all the nipples are all there on display through the sheer fabric for Niall’s viewing pleasure. The effect is devastatingly sexy - even more than if he was completely naked. 

Every thought Niall had in his head, all the words he mentally rehearsed on the way over … they’re all wiped. 

He’s basically turned into the open-mouth-tongue-emoji. It’s a lot.

Harry’s talking away, like there’s nothing going on. “He just texted though - he’s left the lawyers place now with the annulment papers, so won’t be long.”

“That’s alright,” Niall manages to respond weakly. “I’m early.”

Harry has paused a couple of paces away from him. He’s still smiling but is kind of rocking on his heels a bit, like he’s fighting with an urge to keep moving forward.

“C’mere,” Niall says, and opens his arms to him. Which is foolhardy to say the least but he can’t help himself.

Harry smiles and dives in, wrapping Niall up inside his arms and squeezing him tight, tight, tight. Niall drops his face into Harry’s neck - that space that’s just perfect for him. God, he even smells fucking gorgeous. It might be nice to just die here.

After a while, quite a long while really, Harry takes a step back, laughing a little.

Niall looks him up and down.

“Was I supposed to dress up for the occasion too?” 

Harry grins again, sticks his arms out from his body at an angle, twists back and forth to give Niall a good look.

“Uh, Harris sent it over to see if I’d like it. Thought I’d better try it on. Do you like?”

He does a twirl and then stops in a sideways poses, hand on hip, one foot to the side. Niall can’t help his eyes lingering over the curve of his bum, the tight line of fabric over his trim waist.

He swallows tightly.

“Yeah,” his voice is a little hoarse when he speaks. “A lot.”

Harry straightens and his expression shifts into something less amused.

“Really?”

God, Niall knows he shouldn’t but damn. He fits his hand over the neat line of Harry’s hip, slides it round to the small of his back. The material feels silky under his fingertips. It’s so thin the heat of Harry’s skin burns against Niall’s fingertips.

Harry’s just staring at him. Which is awful, just awful, but then his lips part and he takes a slow ragged breath.

So it’s really not Niall’s fault when he can’t stop his hand drifting lower, presses his palm over the firm, smooth roundness of Harry’s buttock. He squeezes very gently which causes Harry to gasp, tilt towards him and grab his shoulder.

“God,” Niall says quietly to him. “You look incredible.”

Harry’s eyes flicker for a second, if Niall hadn’t been watching him so carefully he might not have noticed. 

His focus has shifted onto Niall’s mouth. He bites at his bottom lip and looks up questioningly into Niall’s eyes again.

Niall isn’t sure if it’s him or Harry that starts the kiss, but it’s definitely Harry that starts moving them through a doorway into the library, who pushes Niall down on the recliner and then straddles Niall’s legs, sinking down softly. 

As they kiss, Niall can’t seem to stop himself from rubbing his hands over Harry’s thighs, his hips, his ribs… God, he’s just so … fucking lovely… Harry responds to his touches by arching his back and grinding forward.

“I just gotta -” Harry pants against Niall’s mouth. “Gotta text Jeff … tell him to stay out for a while.”

With a wrench, Niall pulls his head back and dodges Harry’s hot mouth attempting to follow him.

Oh god, yes. Harry should definitely text Jeff to stay away. Every fibre in Niall’s body screams in agreement. But also, fuck. 

No.

They’re doing it again, aren’t they? Niall’s doing it again.

When Harry starts to clamber off Niall’s lap, Niall reaches for him and pulls him back.

Harry grins in surprise, and leans down to kiss him again, but Niall grabs his shoulders and pushes him back.

“Wait a second, Harry.”

Harry looks amused as Niall pushes himself more upright and takes a steadying breath. He strokes a hand along NIall’s face, gently, his eyes only briefly registering surprise again as Niall takes it in both of his and holds on.

“I came over early, because I think we need to talk.”

Harry looks searchingly into his eyes. Niall thinks he sees something flicker there for a second. But then he just smirks. 

He leans into Niall’s ear to whisper, “But we both know how much you like making me shut up.”

He’s being a total menace now and is shifting his position on Niall’s lap, barely perceptibly, but enough to keep Niall on a hot, burning edge.

“Stop. Hey.” Niall presses his hands onto Harry’s thighs to stop him moving. “I’m serious. How come we never talk about this?”

Harry stops moving and sits back. “What do you mean? What’s “this”?”

“This.” Niall repeats. “Us.”

His heart is thundering.

Harry swallows. Then he laughs lightly. “I thought that was just our thing. We don’t need to talk. I thought … That’s just how we are, right? We just get it.” 

He laughs. Leans down to Niall’s ear again, presses the hard swell of his dick into Niall’s thigh. “And now you’re gonna get it, yeah?”

Niall can’t remember a single word that he had planned to say. So he blurts out what is possibly the worst thing he could say.

“Are you in love with me Harry?”

Harry freezes on top of Niall. He sits straighter, looks straight down at him with wide eyes. "What ...?"

He stares. Then he sits right back on the edge of Niall's legs so that Niall has to put a hand on his back, to keep him from falling off. He drops his head.

"Are you?" Niall asks again in a whisper.

“Listen,” Harry says, his voice low and rough, looking somewhere to the left of Niall's shoulder, “Jeff’s going to be back soon with the annulment papers. So there’s nothing for you to … you don’t need to worry about … It’s all sorted, OK? Nothing has to change.”

There’s a long silence after that that’s full of apprehension. Niall eventually manages to unstick his tongue. “Harry … you can talk to me ...”

Harry sighs shortly, cutting him off. “Everything’s fine. I don’t expect anything from you. I know how it is ... This job ... I know what you ... For both of us it's ... It's all just ... not possible ...”

He stands suddenly and starts tugging at the glittering sleeve of his top.

“Fuck, this is so fucking scratchy.”

He laughs, a little hollowly, turns back to Niall.

“They need to add sequins to that list of things you never should work with - children, animals and sequins…”

Niall smiles back at him as Harry wriggles around in an attempt to pull the top over his head without damaging the delicate fabric.

“Doesn’t apply to One Direction.” Niall says, standing and coming over to him. “Cause we were the children and animals.”

Harry laughs and Niall joins in but that’s more because of the way Harry’s got his elbows jammed at a bent angle in the sleeves of the top and the bodice has ruched under his armpits so his belly is sticking out. Harry looks down at himself, an amused glint in his eyes. He spins around “I’m a little teapot.”

“Come here, eejit,” Niall pulls him over and manoeuvres the sleeves over Harry’s hands and then edges the gauzey bodice up over Harry’s head.

“We were just kids,” Harry says when his head pops through.

He sighs and looks down at the floor.

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. He runs his fingers through Harry’s hair to push it back from where it’s been pulled over his forehead. Harry hates having his hair on his face.

“I was a kid,” Harry says then, more softly, darting a glance up at Niall. “I was a kid with a crush on my best friend.”

Niall puts his fingertips onto Harry’s chin, tilts his face up so he can look properly into his eyes.

“And it's always been ... I dunno ... like - _there_?” Harry whispers, staring back. "It’s always been the same. You were always gone in the morning ... but ... for me it's always been ... um...”

He issues another short sigh. "We're always OK though, you know? The way things are with us, it's always ... it's good?"

Then he smiles in a slightly embarrassed way. 

“So I don’t know if it’s the same as being in love?” he asks in that same quiet voice. “It’s not like all the songs. It’s not like feeling like the world’s going to end when you go. It’s not this closed-in thing. We're ... we're more than just having a claim on each other, aren't we? I just … you just make me feel really happy Niall. When we’re together. It's always the same. And I’m … I’m OK, mostly … when you leave. Like, I always have to leave too, so ... I don't have any right to ... So. It’s OK. It’s us. It’s what we are. I’ll take what I can get, to be honest.”

Harry steps away. He crosses his arms over his bare chest, cupping his elbows in the palms.

“I didn’t realise …” Niall starts to say.

“It’s OK-”

“No, Harry,” God, Niall feels like something’s choking him. He’s going to do this though, he is. He tugs his shirt collar away from his neck. “I, I feel the same. I love you. I’m never as happy as I am with you. I’m in love with you. You make me really happy.”

Harry just stares. Until, slowly, his eyes fill and shine bright. A smile starts to edge across his lips.

“And,” Niall swallows, takes a breath and says it - “I’m really fucking terrified of you.”

The smile slips away and is replaced by a frown, creasing Harry’s forehead.

“Sorry,” Niall shrugs. “It’s the truth. It’s why I … but I never meant to do anything to make you think I didn’t care about you-”

Harry shakes his head - “You didn’t …”

“- but for me, I think, it is like the songs. I feel like I might die in your arms. Honestly. I feel like I could drown in you. You’re just so huge to me. I just … it’s so much. It’s been so much. And I know I’ve had to, sort of, disappear sometimes. But. It’s just … huge … you know? It’s all too huge for me sometimes. And I - oh Harry! Fucksake!”

A glint had appeared in Harry’s eye after Niall said the word “huge” and he’s been valiantly attempting to keep his face straight since, but his dimples keep popping as he bites down on his smile.

“I’m sorry it’s too huge for you Niall,” he says after Niall stutters to a halt. His eyes flicker down to his crotch and up again, “But you it’s not like you’re not too shabby yourself.”

Niall can’t help laughing. “Harry fucking shut up! This is ... “

Harry inhales and straightens his facial expression. “Sorry, sorry. This important. This is … big …”

Niall watches him fight internally for a full 20 seconds, before he’s cracking up over his knees. 

“OK. Actually Harry, I’m not in love with you any more. It just stopped. It’s all just gone away.

Harry straightens, still laughing and pulls Niall into a hug against his bare chest. He’s so warm.

“It’s just us. It’s just me,” he whispers into Niall’s ear. “We’re always ok ... when it’s just us, aren’t we...?”

Niall lets himself fall into Harry. Harry - Gucci’s muse, Stevie Nicks duet partner, Harry the biggest brightest person he’s ever watched set the world alight. Harry his friend, his lover, the person who always makes him laugh, whose arms always make him feel like he’s home.

“Oh! Um … hi.”

They both jerk apart in shock at the voice suddenly interrupting.

Jeff’s standing in the doorway, a neatly bound document folder in his hand.

“Should I come back?” he raises an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry detaches himself from Niall, and takes the Harris Reed top from the floor. “It’s OK, we’re just talking. We’re just talking about being in love with each other and shit.”

Jeff’s eyebrows dart upwards, but to his credit he nods and straightens his jacket hem before marching into the room, and laying out papers from the folder onto the desk.

Niall supposes working with Harry long-term gives you a sort of immunity to strange conversation starters.

“Anyway,” Jeff says, producing a pen from his inside pocket, “here they are, finally. Your marriage annulment documents.”

Harry pats his shoulder. “Well done, Jeff. Great work.”

Jeff blushes a little. But tries to keep it all business-like. He holds the pen up in the air. “So, who wants to go first?”

No one moves.

“Or do you want to put a shirt on first, Harry?”

Which Niall snorts at.

Everyone’s eyes are fixed on Jeff’s hand hovering in the air, like it’s some kind of bomb.

“I could put a shirt on and sign the papers” Harry says eventually, “or … I could, like, Not put a shirt on and sign the papers.”

“It really doesn’t matter about the shirt, Harry…”

“I mean … I could not sign the papers …”

Harry’s breath is coming out all shaky now. He bites at his lip, his eyes very, very bright.

Jeff’s hand falls and dangles by his side. He stares at Harry, and Niall definitely thinks Harry has to be rubbing off on him because his face is unreadable.

“Do you...?” Harry turns to Niall, his voice breathless, “do you want to sign the papers?”

Niall stares at him and slowly shakes his head.

Harry beams.

He drops to his knees and shuffles over to where Niall is standing.

“Niall Horan,” he says, putting one hand on his chest, “will you do me the honour of not marriage annulling me?”

“What?” Jeff squeaks. “What is … What?”

Niall looks down at Harry’s smirking face, but as he watches the smirk slowly fades and Harry’s face goes earnest and questioning. Harry doesn’t often look unsure of himself. It’s horribly beautiful and Niall cups it inside his hands and bends down to kiss him lightly on the forehead.

“Will you stay married to me?” Harry asks again quietly. “I think … maybe we should do it - keep our vows? Maybe we should try? I think … it doesn’t have to be scary and huge, Niall. It’s just us … isn’t it? It's just me. Let's see what happens? I know ... like, there's what we do. I know we'll have to be apart. But, we can do things our own way, can't we? It doesn’t have to be a normal marriage - I don’t need you to promise to be faithful, if you-“

”I do.” Niall says quietly, heart thundering. “I do promise to be faithful to you. I mean, that’s if-“

”Yeah. Fuck. I do too,” Harry smiles, biting his lip, “I forsake all others. Screw ‘em.” 

Niall nods. He presses his forehead to Harry’s. He’s got that weird buzzy noise happening again, just like when they first got married. He kinda might be beginning to get to like it a little. 

“OK, Harry. Let’s see what happens. Let's stay married.”

Jeff’s pen clatters to the floor behind them, but Niall doesn’t turn around.

“I’ll just … I guess I’ll just …” he stammers and then Niall hears him leaving, the door closing behind him.

Niall straightens, looking down at Harry - whose eyes are now spilling over, his nose reddened, and he’s sniffling.

Fucksake - can't he even be an ugly crier? Couldn't that be arranged, to even things up a bit for the rest of the mortals?

Niall reaches for Harry hands and pulls him to his feet.

“Come here petal,” he says. “Don’t cry.”

But Harry just draps himself over Niall and buries his face into his shoulder. Niall pets the smooth skin of his back until his breathing steadies.

“Are we really going to do this?” Harry says into his neck. 

“Jesus, looks like it, doesn’t it?”

“Oh my God!” 

Harry jumps clear, bounces on his feet, “Niall! Niall!! We're fucking married!!! We need rings! We need cake! We need to tell our mums!”

Shite.

Maura’s literally going to kill him. He is literally going to have his life taken from him by the woman who gave it to him in the first place. It'll be so tragic. They’ll probably make a movie about it. Ellen will play him and probably get an Oscar.

“Or …” Niall says, dragging Harry over to the recliner, sitting and pulling his tall, lanky husband down to sit on his knees. “We could … just for another day …” he kisses Harry as he settles down and folds his legs either side of Niall, “ … we could keep this to ourselves …”

Niall could always set Harry on Maura - full charm offensive. Maybe he has the right to that kind of thing now - demanding someone to protect him. Someone to be careful with him, to comfort him, love and cherish him, in sickness and health. Like a ninja. 

Harry’s mouth is working along Niall’s jaw. 

“Cool,” he says, mumbling against Niall’s skin. “Just us then … just till tomorrow.”

He places the most devastatingly soft kiss onto Niall's lips. "But after that ... we're talking about having a proper ceremony because if you think I'm actually OK with getting married wearing a hoodie ..."

Awful. Horrible. Terrible. 

“Just us,” Niall says. To remind himself, as the tiniest flutter of panic beats against his ribs at the thought of another wedding. _Just us_ though. That's the thing.

__

__

Fucking perfect.

It’s what he should have known all along. It’s all it’s always been.

Just us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought! 
> 
> btw: I sorta stole the Cheese or Cracker game from an Irish radio show - please don't tell them!


End file.
